


Battle Scars

by siriusblue



Series: In A Hundred Lifetimes [7]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Animagus, Background Relationships, Crossover, Defense Against the Dark Arts, First Kiss, First Meetings, First Time, Greg Lestrade & Neville Longbottom Friendship, M/M, Nights at The Three Broomsticks, Pining, Sexual Content, Teachers, Transfiguration (Harry Potter), pre-Mystrade, traumatic memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-14
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-05-23 10:08:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 30,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14932230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusblue/pseuds/siriusblue
Summary: Ex-Auror Greg Lestrade is in a dark place. Badly wounded protecting a young Auror in training he is facing a bleak future from the bottom of a bottle of firewhiskey until the headmistress of Hogwarts offers him a lifeline. Hogwarts has always been a home for the lost boys and girls and Greg is happy to return there. New friends and the poorly-concealed interest of the handsome Transfiguration teacher make Greg realise he might not be a lost cause after all.





	1. July

BATTLE SCARS

Ex-Auror Greg Lestrade is in a dark place. Badly wounded protecting a young Auror-in-training he is looking at a bleak future through the bottom of a bottle of firewhiskey until the Headmistress of Hogwarts offers him a lifeline.

Hogwarts has always been a home for the lost boys and girls and Greg is happy to return there. His expectations are low but new friends and the poorly-concealed interest of the handsome Transfiguration teacher make Greg realise he may not be a lost cause after all.

JULY

_ Bang. Bang. Bang. _

Greg Lestrade groaned and opened one matted eyelid. The summer sun blazing through the undrawn curtains hit him like a boxing glove.

Blearily he took stock. He was on the sofa of his bedsit at the arse end of Diagon Alley. Good. Naked. Also good. Alone. Not so good. He vaguely remembered hooking up with someone in the bar of the Warlock’s Head last night, someone who wasn't put off by his scars or the fact that he limped heavily when he walked.

He groaned as he remembered mocking laughter from the other man when he discovered Greg was too pissed to rise to the occasion and the door slamming as he left and Greg turned to his only current source of pleasure.

_ Bang. Bang. Bang. _

He sat up, clutching at his aching head and glared at the door. Persistent bastard, whoever it was.

“Just a minute,” he croaked. He scrabbled on the floor, knocking aside a couple of empty bottles he didn't remember opening, and found his wand. His prosthesis was all the way across the room and the thought of attaching it in his current state made Greg feel nauseous. He Summoned his crutches and stood on his remaining leg, covering himself with last night's robes.

He hoped whoever was at the door would go away quickly because his hangover was reaching critical mass and he needed to piss.

He limped the few steps to the door and tapped the locks with his wand. As they slowly opened he kept his wand combat ready. You could never be too careful.

“That will not be necessary, Mr Lestrade. I come in peace.”

Of all the people Greg imagined disturbing him at this ungodly hour, Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts wasn't one of them.

“Come in,” he offered, standing aside as she walked past, her cloak billowing behind her.

He saw her lips form a thin line as she took in the squalor of his bedsit and, for once, Greg felt ashamed.

“It's the house elf’s day off,” he joked but she merely raised a sarcastic eyebrow. Greg hung his head. Professor McGonagall was the only person left in the world who could make him feel like he was eleven years old again and standing in her office in second-hand robes about to be told off.

“For heaven's sake, Gregory. Go and put on some suitable attire. Those robes are back to front. Once you're decent, we can talk.”

He couldn't flee but he limped as quickly as he could into the bathroom to relieve himself and splash his face with cold water. He put his robes on properly and ran a comb through his hair before risking a look in the mirror.

He'd looked better. One side of his face looked as though it had been used as target practice by a drunk knife thrower and nothing he had come up with could hide the lines of pain on his forehead. His once lustrous brown hair was now completely grey. His Healer had said it was due to shock and loss and Greg thought it made him look ancient.

He emerged to find his bedsit transformed to a clean, sweet-smelling.living space. There was a gentle clinking from the sink as a week's worth of dishes washed themselves and his bed had been remade with fresh linen. All the rubbish that he had meant to get rid of had vanished and Professor McGonagall was sitting primly on the sofa. A tray of tea and biscuits sat on the table in front of her and she poured two cups out as Greg came over and sat down heavily beside her.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, his gesture taking in the whole apartment. “I, er…”

“You'll need to buck your ideas up when you come to Hogwarts.” she said as she passed him a cup of tea.

“Thank you. I-wait. What?”

She smiled at him, her dark eyes twinkling behind her glasses.

“I came here to offer you a job, Mr Lestrade. Paid employment. You are familiar with the concept?”

Sarcastic cow, he thought.

“You want me to come and work for you? Why? And why me?”

He slurped his tea as she considered her response.

“You need a job. You are prodigiously talented and all you are doing now is rotting away of boredom and booze in this pitiful excuse for an apartment. You may never be an Auror again but I would like you to come to Hogwarts and teach those who might eventually take up the mantle.”

Seeing that Greg still looked baffled she sighed.

“I want you to be the new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, Gregory.”

He choked on his last bit of tea.

“No way! That job’s cursed. Everyone knows it. And anyway, I might have other offers. You can’t just barge in here and rearrange my life like that!”

“Your current salary is nil, so we can forget about you having a better offer. The job was cursed, that much is true but the curse died with Voldemort. Professor Davidson has been in post for over a decade now.”

“What happened to him?” asked Greg curiously. She snorted with laughter.

“You are obsessed with tragedy, though it’s not exactly surprising given your current state. He is leaving to teach at Beauxbatons, that’s all. And I have a vacancy. The Minister recommended you very highly.”

Greg felt a warm glow at that. He’d always looked up to Kingsley Shacklebolt, his old mentor. It was typical of the man to remember those who had suffered loss while on active service.

“He did? That’s nice of him. How long do I have to think about it?”

“Till the end of the month. That should give you enough time to settle your affairs and attend the appointments at St Mungo’s that you’ve been avoiding. I expect your owl by then. Don’t let me down, Gregory. Hogwarts needs you.”

“I’ll think about it,” he promised her.

“See that you do. Now I must go. Don’t forget, you have till the end of July.”

He ushered her out of his bedsit where she Disapparated and he staggered back into the room and slumped on the sofa.

He might not approve of her tactics but Professor McGonagall had given him something he thought he would never have again.

Hope.

Carefully he attached his prosthesis to what was left of his right leg and locked up his bedsit before travelling to St Mungo’s. She had also been right about that, though Merlin knew how. Greg knew that something cursed by Dark magic could never grow back, but that didn’t stop him hoping or resenting the fact that he was only three-quarters of a man.He also found the walking staff a proper encumbrance but couldn’t quite manage without it. Not yet.

Luckily Healer John Watson was available to see him.He showed Greg into an examination room and asked him to remove his artificial leg.

“I wondered if I’d see you again,Greg. “ he grumbled. “How have you been managing?”

“It hurts if I wear it too long,” admitted Greg. “And sometimes…”

“What?” John could sense the distress in the other man’s voice.

“Sometimes I think I can still feel it. My leg.”

“That’s perfectly normal,” said John soothingly, his quill making notes on the parchment as they talked.”It will get better with time.”

Another wave of John’s wand and a measuring tape flew across the room and started measuring Greg’s leg from all sorts of angles,

“Right, enough,” muttered John and it collapsed onto the floor.

John rolled up the lime-green sleeves of his robes and gently examined Greg.

“It’s perfectly healed. I will give you some cream for when it gets too sore. And I’m going to arrange for a new prosthesis.”

“How long will that take?” asked Greg.

“Couple of weeks. Unless you need it sooner?”

“No, as long as it’s ready for September.”

As he said it, Greg realised he had already made his mind up.

Hogwarts had its new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher.

TBC


	2. August

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg finally arrives at Hogwarts.

AUGUST

The doorbell tinkled as Greg pushed open the door of Madam Malkin’s Robes For All Occasions and he was immediately accosted by the witch herself.

“Good morning, sir. What can I do for you?”

_This brought back so many memories_. _Coming in with his Muggle foster parents and Professor Sinistra as a benign chaperone_ _after getting his Hogwarts letter_ , _so excited he could barely stand still long enough for her to fit his new robes_ _even though they came from the ‘Previously Owned’ rack, his foster parents dazzled by the revelation of the wizarding world and what it would mean to their Greg_. _Even after Professor Dumbledore’s visit they had found it hard to believe, but their support and continued affection had been just what Greg had needed._

Bittersweet memories. He hadn't seen Rose or Hugh since before his injury. They had been so proud of him when he became an Auror. He doubted very much that they'd be proud of the mess of a man he had become.

He had decided to put some of the gold he had squirrelled away in Gringotts to good use. He had already acquired a travelling trunk, much more stylish and roomy than his old Hogwarts one, into which he had packed the stuff he couldn't live without. Now he had to look the part.

“I'm starting a new job shortly,” Greg told her. “I'll need some new work robes.”

“Come through and I'll see what I've got in stock.” she said, guiding him to the wizard's section of the shop.

“What kind of job?” Madam Malkin asked as, for the second time recently, an enchanted tape measure wove its way around Greg.

“I'll be teaching at Hogwarts.” Greg informed her, a tiny thread of pride in his voice. Her eyes widened and she looked intrigued.

“In that case you'll want something washable and hard wearing.” she said firmly. “Nothing too fancy,” she continued, rifling through the racks of clothes. “Perfect. Try these.”

Greg found himself with an armful of clothes being shoved none-too-gently into a changing room.

It was a lot more complicated than it needed to be, using a changing room, but he persevered and soon Greg was in possession of several sets of robes, shirts, trousers and waistcoats. He also purchased a set of dress robes in dark green as well as a new travelling cloak.

He handed over a purseful of Galleons to Madam Malkin and waited patiently as she parcelled up his new purchases.

“Good luck at Hogwarts, Professor…”

“Lestrade.” Greg smiled. He liked the sound of that. “Professor Lestrade. And thank you.”

“My pleasure. Come again soon.”

Greg was still smiling as he made his way down Diagon Alley to his bedsit where he neatly packed away his new clothes. His trunk was filling up nicely, even with the Extension Charm.

In his kitchen he tapped the kettle with his wand and made himself a mug of tea. He had just sat down to drink it when there was a loud tapping at his window.

Grunting, he got to his feet and opened it to admit a brace of handsome brown owls who dropped their seemingly heavy parchment parcel on the table. They looked at him expectantly.

“Oh, right.” he said, filling a saucer of water for them to drink from. Refreshed, the pair gave him a grateful hoot and took off again leaving Greg to open the mysterious parcel.

He smiled when he saw the Hogwarts crest on the first sheet of parchment and settled down to read.

_ Dear Mr Lestrade _

_ Please find enclosed two copies of your contract of employment as Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Sign one copy and send it back by return owl. Teachers are expected to be on-site no later than August 29th and I look forward to seeing you then. _

_ Yours sincerely _

_ Minerva McGonagall _

_ Headmistress. _

_ P.S. I have enclosed a copy of the Defence Against The Dark Arts syllabus for years 1-7 and Professor Davidson has been kind enough to include some helpful notes that may assist you with teaching this class. MM. _

Putting the weighty syllabus to one side for a moment, Greg eagerly read his contract, noting that the probationary period was a year and a day and laughing at the clause which stated: “ _ Hogwarts will not be held accountable for any maiming, mutilation or sudden death of yourself caused during the the course of your teaching duties as it is understood that you shall undertake these at your own risk.” _

“Right,” muttered Greg as he signed where indicated on the parchment with a flourish.

Realising he would have to go out again to the Post Office Greg contemplated buying his own owl.As a student there had never been enough spare money for such a thing and he had used the school owls without a problem but he was an adult now and he didn’t have to squeeze every Galleon till it squeaked. He would need to keep in touch with people, the very few friends he had left, Healer Watson, and his own landlord and an owl would be useful for ordering teaching supplies and suchlike once he was immured in Hogwarts.

Eeylops Owl Emporium was full of jewel-bright curious eyes and the soft rustling of feathers as Greg made his choice. The wizard behind the counter instructed him on the care of his new pet and Greg left the shop with a large cage containing a female tawny owl. She was smaller than the other tawnies in the shop and had a claw missing on her right leg but she had hooted so plaintively at Greg when he saw her, pushing her way to the front of the enclosure that Greg had felt a strong connection and bought her on the spot.

“What will I call you?” he pondered as he laboriously climbed the stairs to his bedsit.

The owl gave him a very stern look as if to say,  _ Careful, mate. Don’t you dare call me anything stupid.  _ Greg actually laughed out loud.

“Minerva. Perfect. If I didn’t know she was a cat in her Animagus form, I’d swear she was checking up on me!”

Inside the bedsit Greg attached the copy of his contract to the newly-christened Minerva’s leg.

“Hogwarts, Minnie. Make sure your namesake gets it, okay? I’ll be here when you get back.”

She nipped his finger affectionately and took off out of the window. Greg watched her fly away and sat down again with the remainder of the day’s correspondence.

Three hours later he had a screaming headache and wondered what he’d let himself in for, but he couldn’t hide his anticipation at the thought of teaching well-remembered themes. Jinxes, curses, hexes, Dark creatures...already he was planning lessons in his head.

It brought him up sharply when he realised that it would be nothing like new Auror training and he wasn’t sure whether to be relieved or disappointed.

“This is your life now.” he told himself sternly.”Get used to it. There’s no point dwelling on the past.”

*

On the second-last day of August, Greg locked up his bedsit, grabbed the handle of his trunk and Minerva’s cage and Disapparated, reappearing just outside the gates of Hogwarts.

He reeled a bit as it had been a while since he had Apparated so far and he clutched at his walking staff to ensure he didn’t fall over. In her cage, Minerva squawked.

“Sorry, darling,” said Greg. “You can go to the Owlery once I’m settled in and make yourself some new friends.”

Minerva glared at him.

“Or not. Whatever you want.”

It was then that Greg realised he wasn’t alone.

A young couple were kissing each other what looked like a long, tender goodbye. The woman was a pretty blonde with her long hair tied back in a thick plait. The man towered over her and she looked tiny in his arms.They were both dressed in Muggle clothing and looked for all the world like a couple of hikers who had gotten lost.

Greg shuffled a bit, embarrassed to have intruded on what should have been a private moment but the couple broke apart and the man beamed at Greg.

“Hello,” he said in a strong Yorkshire accent, coming over and extending his hand. “You must be the new Defence Against The Dark Arts professor. I’m Neville Longbottom. I teach Herbology.”

Greg tried not to stare.  _ Everyone _ knew Neville Longbottom. He was one of the heroes of the Battle of Hogwarts and had personally beheaded Nagini, Voldemort’s familiar, allowing Harry Potter to finally kill the murderous bastard.He would have been a shoo-in for Auror training but he had turned it down flat.

“Greg Lestrade,” replied Greg, shaking his hand warmly.

“Greg, this is my wife, Hannah.” Neville went on.

“Hello, “ smiled Greg, shaking her hand also. “I know you, don’t I?”

“I run the Leaky Cauldron,” she replied shyly. “If you’ve ever been in for a drink recently, that’s where you know me from.”

“Of course,” said Greg warmly.

“It was lovely to meet you, “ she said, and then to Neville,”Darling, I have to get back. I’ll see you at the weekend.”

She kissed Neville again, turned on the spot and vanished.

Neville looked forlornly at the spot for a second then mentally shook himself.

“Better get up there, I suppose. Can I give you a hand with anything?” he asked, noticing Greg’s luggage and his walking staff.

“I think I can manage, but why don’t you walk with me and you can give me the lowdown on what to expect?”

Neville brightened at bit at that. Greg tapped his trunk with his wand and it levitated into the air with Minerva’s cage perched perilously on top and they made their way up the drive to the castle.

“There’s been a lot of changes in the staff recently,” Neville began. “I started just after Christmas when Professor Sprout retired.”

“She was my Head of House when I was here,” chuckled Greg. “I didn’t think she’d ever retire.”

“She took a nasty bite from a Venomous Tentacula and decided she’d had enough. She’s gone to live in Hogsmeade with Wilhelmina Grubbly-Plank. They’re raising Kneazles and Honking Daffodils. You should go and visit when you get a chance.”

“I will, “ promised Greg. “ So who’s teaching Transfiguration now?”

“I think there’s been a few since Professor McGonagall, “ said Neville wryly. “ She’s a tough act to follow. The new bloke seems to be doing well though. He’s been here a couple of years now. Mycroft Holmes. You’ll meet him tonight. Hey, are you all right?”

Greg felt the world darken and the pain seared in what had once been a whole leg.

_ “Get behind me, you fucking idiot!” he had screamed at someone who bore the same name as the Transfiguration teacher. The abomination that they had been tracking unleashed its full power, but not before Greg had fired off a Killing Curse. Illegal, but some things were not meant to live under the same sky as humans. Then the searing pain and the encroaching blackness...a blonde witch, her haughty demeanor undone by heartfelt crying, clinging to him in St Mungo’s in gratitude for saving her son’s life...the less histrionic thanks of the father and his pupil, miraculously undamaged on the surface at least, coming himself to thank him, to promise Greg that if he ever needed anything he knew who to ask. _

“Sorry, just...sometimes this bloody thing hurts sometimes,” he concluded angrily, whacking his prosthesis with his walking staff. Neville looked shocked.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine, honestly. Sorry if I gave you a fright. Look here we are.”

In the grand Entrance Hall Greg looked around interestedly. He knew from gossip that it had taken ages and a shitload of Galleons to repair Hogwarts to its former glory after the battle with Voldemort. From where he was standing, it looked like money well spent.

“Mr Longbottom. Mr Lestrade, welcome back.” Minerva Mcgonagall swept down the staircase, a welcoming smile on her face. “Neville, your office is all ready for you. Try and remember not to leave Screechsnap seedlings in it during the summer holidays or the house elves might actually go on strike.”

Neville hung his head and Greg grinned at his discomfiture.

“Sorry, Minerva, I could have sworn I’d gotten rid of them all.”

“Gregory, your office is also ready for occupation. Leave your things, one of the house elves will sort them out for you. Come with me and I’ll show you where your office is.”

“I’ll see you later at the Three Broomsticks if you fancy a pint,” offered Neville.

“I’ll look forward to it, “ smiled Greg. “Just give me a shout when you’re ready to go.”

Greg followed the Headmistress up the staircase while the people in the portraits that lined the walls muttered and pointed. He ignored them as they reached the Defence Against The Dark Arts Classroom.

“In here, “ she said, beckoning.

In all the years Greg had spent at Hogwarts he had never noticed the door in that classroom that sat to the right of the teacher’s desk. It led, as he found out, to a sitting room with a bathroom and bedroom just off it. It was twice the size of his bedsit in Diagon Alley and he realised he was staring.

“I think you’ll be comfortable here, Gregory,” said Minerva. “The house elves will see to your laundry and cleaning. All meals are served in the Great Hall. I do hope you enjoy teaching here.”

She looked anxious and Greg couldn't help giving her a reassuring smile.

“It all looks wonderful. I’m sure it’ll be fine.”

“Very good. Just a couple of things to settle before I leave you in peace. Will you come to my office and we can discuss it there?”

“Lead on, “ he said gallantly.

Halfway down the corridor they almost walked into a man whose long nose was buried in a sheaf of parchment.

“Sorry, I wasn’t...hello, who are you?”

Minerva snorted. 

“This is the new Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher, Mycroft. I told you he was coming today.” She sighed at his blank look. “Mycroft Holmes, Gregory Lestrade. Mycroft teaches Transfiguration.”

Greg sized up his new colleague. He was taller than he was, slender with wavy red hair and a closely-trimmed beard and his robes were immaculate Startled blue-grey eyes surveyed Greg as they shook hands.

“Lovely to meet you, “ stuttered Mycroft, faint pink roses appearing in his cheeks.

“Likewise, “ said Greg with a smile.

“Yes, well, that’s enough of that, “ muttered Minerva, shooing Greg in front of her towards her office.

Greg couldn’t wait for tonight so he could ask Neville everything he knew about Professor Holmes. His time spent at Hogwarts might turn out to be pretty interesting after all.

TBC


	3. September

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg's curiosity is finally satisfied as the school year begins at Hogwarts.

SEPTEMBER

 

Greg swore long and fluently as he limped down the corridor to the Great Hall. He couldn't be late tonight of all nights but he had been distracted looking for a particular reference in a book he would be using for his first class of the term and had lost track of the time.

 

“Language, sir!” roared one of the portraits.

 

“Oh, shut up!” Greg muttered as he opened the teacher's door and slipped inside, sitting in the only empty seat at the staff table beside Mycroft Holmes.

 

Neville waved at him from the opposite end of the table and Greg grinned back. He and Neville might have only known each other for a couple of days but it was one of those relationships that was as comfortable as a pair of old slippers. They had spent a couple of convivial evenings in the Three Broomsticks where they had talked about all sorts of things. Compared experiences combatting evil. Discussed which Quidditch team should win the League that year and reminisced about their own student days at Hogwarts. Greg realised he'd missed having a friend to talk to, someone who wasn't trying for advancement in the same department or trying to get into his pants which, Greg realised, was the sum total of his recent acquaintances.  

 

Professor McGonagall gave him a nod and Greg looked out at the Great Hall and the students crowding out the four House tables chatting to their friends, laughing and sneaking looks at the staff table.

 

“This brings back a few memories,” said Mycroft softly.

 

Greg grinned at him. They hadn't exchanged much more than pleasantries since his arrival but Greg was determined to get the man alone for a proper chat, mostly to dispel his curiosity and discuss the huge Erumpment in the room which had the possibility of making things awkward between them.

 

“Too right it does. I wonder how many of them have been sick? “

 

Mycroft laughed, his eyes twinkling.

 

“There were two before my Sorting. And I remember Billy Price fainted.” he said.

 

“Same here,” whispered Greg.

 

Just then the main door to the Great Hall opened and Horace Slughorn walked in, closely followed by a bunch of first-years. Some looked terrified, others looked in awe at the enchanted ceiling. All of them looked pale and on edge.

 

Professor Slughorn placed a stool in front of the teachers table then produced a tatty old wizard's hat.

 

“Is that the Sorting Hat?” murmured Greg. “I thought Voldemort destroyed it?”

 

“He didn't succeed,” whispered Mycroft out the corner of his mouth. “The Founders knew their stuff.”

 

An icy glare from the Headmistress made them both shut up as the Hat completed its song about the virtues of the different houses and Professor Slughorn drew out his parchment list and read out the first name.

 

Greg remembered his own Sorting. How he had felt ill, believing that someone would come and tell him there had been a mistake and send him home. He remembered putting the Hat on his head and the sweet feeling of relief when he had been Sorted into Hufflepuff.

 

When the last name had been read out and Horace Slughorn had regained his seat at the staff table, Professor McGonagall stood up and silence fell across the room.

 

“Welcome to Hogwarts. Before the feast I am delighted to tell you of a new addition to the teaching staff.”

 

“Oh, blimey.” Greg groaned. Mycroft winked at him.

 

“Professor Davidson has left to teach elsewhere and Professor Lestrade has agreed to take over as the Defence Against The Dark Arts teacher.”

 

There was warm applause at the announcement, most of the students stared at him curiously and Greg felt slightly less mortified.

 

“Let the feast begin!”

 

The golden plates at the teachers table filled with food and Greg helped himself to steak and chips, suddenly ravenous. He noticed Mycroft cutting off a slice of a pale-looking pie and piling his plate with roasted vegetables.

 

“Sorry. Did you want some of the Brie and walnut tart, Gregory?” Mycroft asked.

 

“No thanks. I just wondered what it was.”

 

“I don't eat meat. The house elves always make sure there are lots of vegetarian options for the herbivores amongst us at mealtimes.”

 

“That's great. They really do cater for everyone, don't they?”

 

“Indeed.”

 

When the feast was over and the students had filed out of the Hall, Greg saw his opportunity. He grasped Mycroft's sleeve before he could get away.

 

“Mycroft, I'd like to talk to you. Somewhere quiet. And soon.”

 

Mycroft nodded gravely.

 

“Yes, I thought you might. There are far too many ears here in the castle. Meet me in the Three Broomsticks tomorrow night after dinner.”

 

Greg nodded and made his way back to his office to get ready for bed. He opened Minerva’s cage and let her out of the window to hunt before crawling into bed. Tomorrow would be an interesting day in more ways than one.

 

*

 

Greg's first class of the day were his NEWT students, a dozen seventeen year olds from all the Houses. He took the register then perched himself on the edge of his desk.

 

“This is your final year. You don't need me to tell you how important it is or how you need to study hard. You all got that pep-talk when you started your OWL year.”

 

There were a few smiles at that and some general relaxation.

 

“I know what I need to teach you to get you through your exams and I'm not exaggerating when I say this will be your toughest year yet but if there’s anything you want me to teach you over and above the curriculum, now's the time to ask. Have a think. Ask questions.”

 

One student put his hand up.

 

“Yes. Michael, isn't it?”

 

“Yes sir. Is it true that you used to be an Auror?”

 

“Yes, it's true. Why?”

 

“I didn't mean to be rude, Professor. It's just...we all think...our practical defence spells could do with some work. And if it was your speciality then that's something we would like you to teach us.”

 

The rest of the class nodded enthusiastically. Greg smiled.

 

*

 

By the end of the teaching day, Greg was mentally worn out but fired with a real enthusiasm for the job. None of the students looked like they felt sorry for him; most treated him with the utmost respect both for him and his previous profession. The first-years looked terrified of him but they were terrified of everything in the first few days so he didn't take it personally.

 

After dinner he washed and changed and left the castle, making his way laboriously down the path to Hogsmeade village. Madam Rosmerta smiled at him as he walked into the bar of the Three Broomsticks.

 

“Hi, Greg. Mycroft's waiting for you over there.”

 

She pointed discreetly to an alcove where a figure in cornflower blue robes was sitting.

 

“Thanks. I'll have a pint of the usual.”

 

“Go and sit down, I'll bring it over,” she said, shooing him away.

 

Greg walked over to the table and sat down with a groan. Mycroft looked up and smiled.

 

“Good evening, Gregory. How was your first day?” asked Mycroft.

 

“Exhausting,” confessed Greg. 

 

“You get used to it. In time it won't be so tiring. At the end of my first week I slept for the entire weekend, I think.” laughed Mycroft. Greg chuckled as a pint of dark beer was put in front of him. Mycroft was drinking red wine and a glass of that appeared as well.

 

“Thank you,” said Greg as Rosmerta disappeared behind the bar.

 

“What did you do before you came to teach here?” Greg asked.

 

“I had a minor position in the Ministry of Magic. I was there when the Death Eaters infiltrated it and helped to restructure it when Kingsley Shacklebolt became Minister but I was sickened by the corruption that had gone on and was never completely obliterated. I stuck it out for longer than I should have until I was needed at home. You know why. That is what you came here to ask, isn't it?”

 

Greg was taken aback by the abruptness of the question but quickly rallied.

 

“I suppose so. Is Sherlock Holmes your brother?”

 

“Yes he is. My baby brother. My family will be eternally in your debt, Gregory. You saved his life at a tremendous cost to yourself and we can never repay you for that.”

 

“I couldn't let him die.” whispered Greg, goosebumps breaking out all over his skin. “He was a young hothead who thought he knew everything but nothing could have prepared us for…” he swallowed heavily. “That.”

 

Impulsively Mycroft grabbed Greg's hand and he felt comforted.

 

“Sherlock is well now though it took his mind a long time to recover from such a brutal pruning. He enjoys his work at St Mungo’s, brewing potions in the dispensary, and has even found a romantic interest with one of the Healers. Put any worry you might have had for him out of your mind, Gregory. He is fine.”

 

Greg breathed out a gust of stale air. It felt like he had just shed a lead waistcoat he didn't know he was wearing.

 

“Thank you,” he said sincerely, refusing to let go of Mycroft's hand. “For clearing the air and setting my mind at rest.”

 

Mycroft blushed and looked at Greg, his expression unreadable.

 

“If that was all you wanted to talk about then I should be getting back.”

 

“Don't be daft,” said Greg. “We're just getting started. Let's have another drink.” 

 

He signalled to Rosmerta for another round, secretly intrigued by the delight on Mycroft's face when Greg had said they weren't done talking yet.

 

There was a lot more to the shy Transfiguration teacher than academic brilliance and love for his family and Greg was determined to find out what.

 

Starting that night.

 

TBC

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This will be the last update for a few weeks, lovely readers. RL strikes again. Sorry.


	4. October

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of Greg's backstory is revealed and the UST between him and Mycroft is turned up a notch or two but Hogwarts is never free from surprises and danger.

OCTOBER

 

Greg eyed his first-year Hufflepuffs as they took their seats and took out their wands as well as their quills. Word had quickly spread to always expect the unexpected in Professor Lestrade's class which made Greg smile.

 

As he took the register and got to the letter ‘L' he watched Teddy Lupin’s hair turn bottle green as his name was called. Wisely, he didn't comment as Teddy’s appearance tended to change a number of times each lesson. He was quite sure that the boy was unaware he was doing it.

 

Greg took his place in front of his desk. Immediately the class fell silent.

 

“Good afternoon, everyone. You can put your wands away today.”

 

He paused as the class obeyed him.

 

“Today we're going to talk a little bit about the history of magic.”

 

There was a collective groan from the class and Greg couldn't help but smile.

 

“I know Professor Binns has probably bored you all to sobs with goblin rebellions and all that. He did when I was at school but today I want us to talk about Voldemort and his rise to power. This is Defence Against the Dark Arts and if you can identify the kind of wizard he was and what motivated him to do what he did then it will be easier next time for the younger generation to help put a stop to any other potential Dark Lord before they can gain any traction. Now then, who can tell me what they think made Voldemort such an attractive leader for certain types of wizard?”

 

The discussion that followed was lively and Greg found that all he had to do was guide the conversation back when it threatened to get too off-topic. He admired their youthful enthusiasm and absolute certainty that the world was black and white. However when the debate turned to the Battle of Hogwarts he noticed some of them grow quiet and introspective but the debate was still ongoing when the bell rang.

 

“Okay. Homework. Describe how you think you might identify a potential Dark witch or wizard and state your reasons. One roll of parchment by this time next week. Class dismissed. Teddy, a word before you go.”

 

The rest of the class filed out and Teddy Lupin stood in front of Greg. Greg looked into the face of Teddy's mother apart from a pair of striking hazel eyes presumably inherited from his father. He had gone pale and his hair had resumed its normal mousy brown.

 

“Are you okay?” Greg asked. “I'm sorry if that got a bit too close to home for you.”

 

“I'm fine, Professor. Honestly. I mean, Grandma talks about my Mum and Dad all the time. And about Grandad. It helps me know them a bit. And the house is full of photographs too. It's good that you put Dolohov away for good as well. Can I go now?”

 

“Yes. If you ever need to talk…”

 

“Thanks, Professor Lestrade.”

 

Greg frowned at the door the boy had raced through. He wished he'd handled that better. He made his way to the staffroom in search of a cup of tea and was delighted to see Mycroft sitting in one of the mismatched chairs.

 

“You're looking terribly serious, Gregory. First-years giving you a hard time?” Mycroft teased.

 

“Not exactly but we had a debate and it might have upset a few of them. I have to keep reminding myself that they're kids.”

 

Mycroft's smile had vanished when he saw that his friend was genuinely distressed at the thought that he might have upset a child, albeit unintentionally.

 

“Gregory, they are here to learn. Yours is an uncomfortable subject full of distressing topics. All you can do is guide them through the worst of it.”

 

Greg gave Mycroft a half-smile which was like the sun coming out to Mycroft's eyes.

 

“Thanks for that. Are we still on for chess tonight?”

 

“Of course. I'll bring the wine if you provide the venue. I should be done with marking by nine.”

 

“Sounds perfect.” Greg replied. “Prepare to be thrashed.”

 

“Ever the optimist, Gregory.”

 

Greg grinned to himself as Mycroft left the room. He really looked forward to their twice-weekly chess games and had learned a great deal about his new friend since they had started playing together, all of which he liked. He also got the distinct impression that Mycroft was attracted to him and that made Greg very happy indeed, even if he couldn't imagine what such a cultured, refined man like Mycroft Holmes saw in the man he knew himself to be now.

 

He sipped at his tea. Half an hour till his next class of OWL Ravenclaws. He'd have no trouble with them.

 

*

 

Greg lit the candles with his wand as the fire crackled merrily in the hearth of his sitting room. He set up the chess pieces for the first match. It was a very old set which he had had since he was a first year and they seemed excited to be used again on a regular basis, even if he lost more often than he won. He placed a couple of wine glasses on the table and walked over to the gramophone. 

 

Making his selection and setting needle to vinyl soothed him even further and soon Tony Williams’s voice filled the room with a glorious wash of sound. ‘Twilight Time’ had just begun when Mycroft knocked at the door and Greg invited him in.

 

Mycroft opened the bottle of wine he was carrying and poured them both a glass before taking his seat at the chessboard.

 

“Got your marking done then?” Greg asked with a grin.

 

“Every time I assign homework I'm reminded of how much we used to complain about it when we were students.” Mycroft replied with a smile. “If I'd known what a pain it is to mark twenty pieces of similar work I might not have grumbled as much.”

 

“Yes you would.” laughed Greg.

 

“You're probably correct, Gregory.” Mycroft conceded.

 

The two pawns squeaked as Greg picked them up and hid one in each hand. Mycroft chose white and the game began.

 

“Who is that singing, Gregory?” Mycroft asked as one of Greg's knights bashed Mycroft's queenside rook and dragged it off the board.

 

“It's a Muggle group called The Platters.” Greg explained. “My foster parents loved them. They loved all the great vocal bands and singers in the 50’s and it was what I grew up listening to.”

 

‘Smoke Gets In Your Eyes’ was now playing. It was Rose’s favourite song and Greg was appalled to feel a lump in his throat and his eyes began to prickle.

 

“Gregory, what's wrong?” Mycroft looked concerned.

 

“Just being daft. Thing is, Mycroft, after talking about family with young Teddy today it made me realise I haven't spoken to either of them since before my accident. And I miss them.”

 

Greg wiped his face angrily, ashamed at appearing so weak in front of Mycroft.

 

“Why is that, Gregory? Do you fear they will think less of you because you have been wounded? I doubt very much that the people who raised such a fine man would be bothered about that.”

 

Mycroft had gone very pink as he said those words but was still determined.

 

“Yes. No. I don't know.  _ I _ didn't like what I had become afterwards, practically an alcoholic and shagging any bloke who even smiled at me, just to prove I still could. And they would have known, even if I didn't say a word.”

 

“Tell me a little of these perceptive people. Muggles, were they?” Mycroft asked. Greg nodded.

 

“Apparently I was left on a church doorstep as a baby.” Greg began, a wry smile playing on his lips. “To this day I've got no idea who my real parents are. The social worker who dealt with my placement called me Gregory because she said she had never seen such a watchful child. Lestrade is the surname of my foster parents.”

 

Greg limped over to his desk and picked up a framed photograph. Mycroft looked at it when it was handed to him. A handsome black couple smiled out of the frame. It was obviously a Muggle picture as the pair were frozen in time.

 

“Rose and Hugh came over on the  _ Empire Windrush _ to make a better life for themselves. Hugh was a bus driver, Rose was a nurse. They planned on having a big family but it didn't happen. Instead they got me. Even when weird things kept happening around me that no one could explain, they wouldn't part with me. With their shifts there was always someone at home to make sure that I ate properly, did my homework and stayed out of trouble. I owe them everything.”

 

Mycroft handed him back the photograph silently and when Greg had replaced it and sat back down he reached over and timidly stroked the back of Greg's hand with the tips of his fingers.

 

“It's probably none of my business, Gregory, but this lack of contact is upsetting you. Surely your family will be worried about you as well? I would reach out to them for you have absolutely nothing to be ashamed of.”

 

“You're probably right,” sighed Greg. “I'll think about it. Too much going on at the moment.”

 

They smiled in accord, their gazes locking, aquamarine on chocolate brown, until a loud cough from the chessboard made them look away as Greg's queen said.

 

“I hate to interrupt, but are you two going to play or just stare at each other all night?”

 

Mycroft smiled, an enigmatic smile that could be promising anything.

 

“Your move, Gregory.”

 

*

 

A week later at the breakfast table Greg was surprised to see a veritable flock of owls descend on Mycroft who looked a bit embarrassed as he relieved them of their post, tucking the envelopes under his porridge bowl and leaving the parcels unopened.

 

“You're popular today, “ said Greg as he passed on his way to prepare for his first class.

 

“My parents and brother  _ will  _ insist on celebrating my birthday, even though I've told them not to bother. They never listen.” Mycroft replied. 

 

“Right.” Greg said prickling with guilt. “There's cake, though. That's always worth feeling a year older for, surely?”

 

Mycroft smiled and shooed him off.

 

At lunchtime Greg borrowed one of the school brooms and flew down to the village. Madam Rosmerta looked surprised to see him.

 

“What can I get you, Greg?” she asked. 

 

“A bottle of your best oak-matured mead, please. And I'll pay extra if you'll wrap it for me.”

 

“No need for that. A gift is it?” she asked as she rummaged in the stock cupboard.

 

“Friend's birthday.”

 

She produced a fine bottle and muttered an incantation which had the bottle wrapped and beribboned in no time. Greg paid her, thanked her profusely and hopped back on the broomstick, making it back with minutes to spare. He tucked the bottle into his office and, ignoring his rumbling stomach, went to teach his fifth years.

 

“Hex deflection, ladies and gentlemen.” Greg announced. “Knowing how to protect yourself is vital. Now I know you've been practicing the Shield Charm, or you should have been, and you are all aware of the theory. Grab your wands and we'll take this outside. I'm quite fond of this classroom and I don't want it damaged.”

 

Delighted the students followed Greg out of the classroom and down the corridor, chatting amongst themselves.

 

As the group passed the Transfiguration classroom there was some screaming, some yelling and a deep growling followed by a thunderous round of applause.

 

“What the f-” Greg began.

 

“Professor Holmes has been showing the third-years his Animagus transformation.” said one of the girls. “It's really something.”

 

“Oh.”

 

Greg had known, of course he had. Aurors tended to keep well abreast of those who could transform but he hadn't really given it a thought in connection with Mycroft and now he was curious.

 

He led the students outside and down towards the wide open space in front of Hagrid’s cabin.

 

Hagrid himself was teaching and detailing what looked like Bowtruckles to an enthusiastic class and he waved happily to Greg as they stopped.

 

“Okay, divide into pairs and let me see what you're made of. Minor jinxes  _ only.  _ Madam Pomfrey has enough to do without scooping some of you up with a spoon. Carry on.”

 

Greg watched with a critical eye as the students took it in turns to cast their Shield Charms while their partner tried to hex them. In the end only two of them ended up needing to go to the hospital wing and Greg gave detention to the perpetrators.

 

“I  _ warned  _ you. So don't whine, okay? It won't be too awful.”

 

*

 

After dinner Greg stopped by Mycroft's office. Mycroft looked both surprised and pleased to see him. Dressed only in a shirt and trousers with his waistcoat unbuttoned Mycroft had clearly been trying to relax and Greg felt guilty for disturbing him.

 

“Many happy returns,” said Greg, thrusting the gift-wrapped bottle at him.

 

“Thank you, Gregory. It wasn't necessary but thank you anyway. Come in, there's some cake left. The house elves insist on birthday cake.”

 

“Quite right too.” laughed Greg as he followed Mycroft into his rooms. The furnishings in here were predominantly green and silver. Mycroft never shied away from showing off his House pride.

 

Greg accepted a slice of exquisite chocolate cake and sat at Mycroft's insistence.

 

“Passed your class today when you were teaching about Animagi.” Greg said thickly through a mouthful of cake. “Were you showing off because it's your birthday?”

 

“Yes, probably.” Mycroft admitted.

 

Greg swallowed the last of his cake and leaned forward.

 

“Show me.” he pleaded.

 

“Really?”

 

“Please.”

 

The next second Greg found himself staring at a full-grown Bengal tiger which padded over and lightly butted his knee with its head. Close up, Greg could tell it was Mycroft; no tiger had those blue/grey eyes nor did their pelts grow in floofy curls.

 

“You magnificent bastard.” said Greg admiringly. “Most Animagi are dogs or rats but not you. Too mundane for a Holmes.” He scratched the tiger behind one ear and was rewarded with a  _ wroowll _ of pleasure.

 

Mycroft transformed back to himself and laughed.

 

“You are getting to know me all too well.” he said.

 

Just then the magically enhanced voice of the Headmistress echoed through the room.

 

“ _ All teachers to the staff room immediately _ .  _ All students to remain in their common rooms till further notice.” _

 

The two men looked at each other.

 

“Trouble?” asked Mycroft.

 

“Oh yeah.” agreed Greg.

 

They hurried to the staff room where Minerva McGonagall was waiting. Once all the teachers had assembled she stood to address them.

 

“The Ministry has just sent word of a breakout from Azkaban.” she said gravely. “Anton Dolohov has escaped.”

 

“Fucking hell!” exploded Greg.

 

“While I appreciate this will impact on some of you personally, we have a more pressing matter. A student is missing”

 

There was a collective gasp of horror before Professor Flitwick asked the question.

 

“Who?”

 

“Teddy Lupin. “

 

TBC.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this has taken a while to produce but I promise more regular updates from now on. And I have replies to send to your wonderful comments. I'm on it, trust me.


	5. October/November

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The search begins and Greg realises what he has to lose if he keeps being a stubborn idiot.

OCTOBER/NOVEMBER

 

Greg was the first to speak.

 

“Dolohov doesn't have Teddy. It's impossible. Hogwarts is far too well defended and he might be after revenge on a lot of people… _ ” Me…”  _ but for the moment he's only one wizard and he'll be busy trying to rebuild his power base. No, Teddy's on the grounds somewhere. He's a good kid, we just have to find him.”

 

“I agree with your analysis, Gregory.” Minerva conceded. 

 

“He's right.” Neville chimed in. “There's nothing can get in here that shouldn't. Problem is, where is he?”

 

“We should arrange search parties. I shall alert the prefects from each House to assist, if that's okay, Headmistress.” added Horace Slughorn.

 

“Thank you, Horace. Leave no inch of the castle or grounds unsearched. I will send an owl to his grandmother. Let me know as soon as you find him.”

 

Greg found himself in the grounds with Neville and a burly Gryffindor prefect, the tips of their wands alight as they explored every blade of grass and copse of trees.

 

They drew closer to the Forbidden Forest where Hagrid was waiting with his crossbow.

 

“No sign yet?” Hagrid asked, his expression anxious under his tangle of wild hair, Cerberus his boarhound sitting at his feet.

 

“Nothing yet,” said Neville. 

 

“I'm waiting fer word,” continued Hagrid. “‘Fore I go in there.”

 

Just then there was the sound of galloping hooves and two centaurs emerged from the trees. Greg recognised Firenze, the Divination teacher but the other was wild of hair and eye and surveyed the humans with disdain.

 

“Hagrid. There is no sign of the human foal within.”

 

“Bane speaks the truth. The boy is not in the forest.” Firenze added. “There is nothing within that should not be. Good luck in finding him.”

 

“Thanks, both of yeh.” said Hagrid. The centaurs nodded and galloped back into the trees.

 

Greg sighed and leaned heavily on his walking staff. 

 

“Maybe we're thinking about this all wrong.” he muttered. “Are we sure he hasn't got friends in another House that he might be with?”

 

“No, sir.” replied the prefect. “Teddy sticks with the Hufflepuffs. And all the common rooms and dormitories will have been checked anyway.”

 

“Yeah, you're right, Jimmy. Okay, why would you just suddenly disappear? Was he getting picked on? Worried he couldn't cope with his school work?”

 

Both Neville and Jimmy shrugged and Hagrid shook his shaggy head.

 

“I like him and he seems popular,” said Neville.

 

“He's too young fer my subject but he seems happy enough.” Hagrid added. “Greg?”

 

Greg had gone very pale.

 

“I think I know what upset him. Bugger, why would he run away like that?”

 

Greg turned to Jimmy the prefect.

 

“Go back to the castle and see if Mrs Tonks has arrived yet, will you? I'll be right behind you.”

 

“Yes, Professor.”

 

“What are you thinking, Greg?” asked Neville.

 

“I think I know where he might be. We discussed some stuff in class today that might have cut a bit too close to the bone. He'll want to be with his family.”

 

Understanding dawned on Neville's face.

 

“The Garden of Remembrance?”

 

“Yup,” agreed Greg, heading away from the forest towards the greenhouses with Neville and Hagrid close behind.

 

Greg's footsteps led him to a secluded, peaceful part of the Hogwarts grounds where a beautiful display of magical and ordinary plants grew around a simple stone column on which was recorded the date of the Battle of Hogwarts followed by the names of the fallen. At its base was a tiny figure wrapped in a black cloak, its fingers brushing the rough stone.

 

“Got him!” Greg exclaimed, weak with relief. He drew his wand again and sent a Patronus message, the silvery-grey fox bounding away to the castle. Hagrid picked Teddy up and Greg could see the boy had cried himself to sleep; his eyes were swollen shut with tears and even in sleep, his mouth trembled.

 

“Let's get him to the hospital wing,” suggested Greg. 

 

When they made it to the entrance hall there was a huge group of people waiting, Teddy's grandmother among them.

 

“Oh, thank goodness you found him!” she exclaimed.

 

“Where was he, Gregory?” asked Minerva.

 

“The Garden of Remembrance. I think he just wanted to be close to his parents for a while.”

 

Greg heard his voice thickening as he spoke and turned away, walking up the stairs with Hagrid and Mrs Tonks.

 

Hagrid lay Teddy down on one of the beds while Madam Pomfrey fussed over him.

 

“He's just emotionally overwrought.” she announced. “I'll keep him here for a day or two till he's less upset.”

 

The small figure on the bed stirred.

 

“Where am I?” Teddy asked plaintively. 

 

“It's all right, Ted. You're safe in the hospital wing.” replied his grandmother.

 

“Grandma!” The boy put his arms around her and clung to her tightly. “I'm sorry if I gave you a fright.”

 

“It's okay, darling. As long as you're safe. That's all that matters.” she replied tenderly, stroking his hair.

 

Teddy peered at Greg through bloodshot eyes.

 

“Professor Lestrade, am I in trouble?”

 

“That's up to Professor Vector, Teddy, but I doubt it. Next time you feel like that, promise you'll talk to someone. Will you do that?”

 

“I promise,” he replied, looking relieved.

 

Greg turned to leave and was making his laborious way down the corridor when he heard his name being called. It was Andromeda Tonks, her eyes bright with tears.

 

“Gregory, I want to thank you for finding him.” she began.

 

“It's okay,” he replied gruffly.

 

“I can't believe you're here of all places. Minerva told me what happened to you, you poor man. Such a terrible thing for someone so young.”

 

Greg took her hands in his.

 

“I'm alive,” he said gently. “That's good enough.”

 

“I remember you and Dora training together. She had such a crush on you. Will you ever go back? “

 

“I honestly don't think I can,” Greg admitted. “Not to fieldwork. And I'd be useless in an office all day. Best if I put it behind me altogether.”

 

“Such a shame. You were one of the best.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. “Take care of yourself, Gregory.”

 

“You too,” he replied gruffly. 

 

He made it to the Headmistress’s office where Professors McGonagall and Vector were waiting.

 

“He'll be fine,” Greg told them. “He's just a bit distressed.”

 

Minerva McGonagall nodded.

 

“Understandable as the news of Dolohov’s escape is all round the school. Both you and he have a special reason to be upset, Gregory.”

 

“I'm fine.” Greg lied then turned to Professor Vector. “For what it's worth, Serafina, I wouldn't be too hard on him. He'll be embarrassed enough.”

 

“I won't. A small detention helping Neville with tidying up the Remembrance Garden on Saturday will do.” she said and the three of them shared a conspiratorial grin.

 

When Greg finally made it back to his rooms he slumped in front of the embers of the fire and took a swig from a freshly-poured glass of wine. Refreshed a bit, he sat at his desk and removed his prosthesis with a groan of relief before picking up a fresh roll of parchment and his quill. 

 

_ Dear Mum and Dad... _

 

The night's events had only served to remind him that he still had parents and he should wind his bloody stubborn neck in and get in touch while he still could.

 

An hour later, his hand aching, Greg sealed the parchment scroll with his wand and sat back to wait for Minnie to return.

 

*

 

At the Halloween feast the following week Greg watched Teddy laughing and joking with his friends while eating everything in sight. He smiled and touched the breast pocket of his jacket where the letter he bad received that morning sat.

 

“You look very pleased with yourself,” said Neville as he reached past Greg to snag the dish of roast potatoes.

 

“I'm going home to see my parents this weekend,” replied Greg with a smile brighter than any of the enchanted candles. 

 

Mycroft overheard and smiled to himself.

 

*

 

Greg popped into view on Southsea beach and thanked his lucky stars that there was no one there to see him. Mycroft had Transfigured his walking staff into a walking stick with a silver badger’s head on the top while Greg wore jeans and a thick jumper under his coat. 

 

He walked slowly along the row of houses set back from the beach until he found the new address he had been given. Squaring his shoulders he limped up the garden path and rang the doorbell.

 

There was the sound of running feet and the door was flung open and there, filling the frame was his tiny foster mum. Her shock at his appearance was quickly masked as she pulled him inside where his foster dad was waiting, a big grin of anticipation on his face.

 

The first thing Hugh did was cuff Greg gently round the ear.

 

“Too long, boy. Had your Mama worried sick.”

 

“Sorry,” said Greg meekly.

 

Rose put her arms around him and though she barely reached his chest Greg felt comforted. He smelled the lilac soap she always used and felt his eyes fill with tears.

 

“What did they do to my beautiful boy?” Rose asked, hugging him tighter.

 

“They hurt me, mum.” Greg sobbed. “I lost my leg and nearly lost my mind.”

 

Then he couldn't speak any more, his tears falling like rain into Rose’s hair, then Hugh’s arms were around them both, being the rock for his family that he always had been.

 

“You're home now, son. Back with the people who love you.”

 

Greg sobbed even harder. He didn't deserve them, not after the way he had behaved, yet all there was in this cramped, narrow hall was love and forgiveness.

 

A little later Greg sat in the living room with tea and cake and asked the question that had been bugging him since he got their letter.

 

“When did you move out of Brixton? I didn't think you'd ever leave.”

 

Hugh gave his deep laugh and shared an adoring look with his wife.

 

“London was getting to be a bit too much for us so when I finally persuaded your Mama to retire we decided to come here. Remember coming here for our holidays Greggy?”

 

“Yeah,” smiled Greg. He remembered long, sunny days on the beach, endless ice cream and candy floss on the pier. “You couldn't have picked a better place.”

 

“So you're teaching now? At wizard school?” Rose asked, her dark eyes alight with curiosity. “What are you teaching?”

 

“Defence Against the Dark Arts. Sort of the same stuff I was doing as an Auror. It's great, really. The kids are wonderful.”

 

“Don't tell me you're stuck there with a bunch of dusty old wizards.”

 

Greg laughed. “Not exactly. I've made a couple of friends. There's Neville, he’s a fair bit younger than me. We have the odd pint together and talk about wizard sport. He's married to a lovely girl. Then there's Mycroft. He's…”

 

Greg found himself suddenly at a loss for words to describe precisely what Mycroft was to him and Rose’s knowing smile wasn't helping.

 

“He's a bit younger than me too. Old wizarding family. We play chess twice a week. He's really kind. And funny. And probably the cleverest man I've ever met.”

 

“They both sound fine, Greggy. Are you happy?”

 

“Yes. Even more so now that I'm here with you two. I missed you so much.”

 

“There will always be a home for you here, son.” said Hugh.

 

Much later, stuffed to the gills with Rose's jerk chicken, rice and peas, Greg undressed in the spare room and sank into the mattress, cocooned by soft pillows and a thick quilt. He was asleep almost before he remembered to turn out the light.

 

*

 

When he woke next morning the sun was high in the sky and he looked disbelievingly at his watch. He had slept for thirteen solid hours. He made his way to the bathroom then wandered downstairs in search of coffee. 

 

There was a note on the kitchen table.

 

_ Didn't want to wake you. We're at church and should be back around midday. Hope you can stay for Sunday dinner, it's roast lamb xx _

 

“Temptress,” muttered Greg. He made himself coffee then, suitably caffeinated, he took out his wand and went outside.

 

Rose and Hugh returned as promised, arm in arm with each other and dressed in their Sunday best, to find the veg prepared and the joint sizzling in the oven and Greg with a big grin on his face.

 

“Hey, you're finally housetrained!” Rose exclaimed, lifting the pot lids and scrutinising the contents.

 

Greg and Hugh were chased out of the kitchen so they moved into the back garden with the Sunday papers and fresh coffee. In what seemed like no time at all Greg sat down to his second exquisite meal of the weekend.

 

He finished the last bite of his apple pie and custard and said with deep regret.

 

“I have to go back. I've got a load of marking to do and it's my turn to be the pastoral teacher.”

 

“When will you be back?” asked Hugh.

 

“I don't know. I was hoping I could come for Christmas for a few days. Will that be okay?”

 

Rose's eyes shone. “Of course, son.”

 

“And I'll write. At least once a week. You recognise Minnie now, she'll be happy to wait for a reply if you give her water and some raw meat. I promise I won't lose touch again.”

 

There were hugs and kisses all round and Greg's eyes had a suspicious sheen to them as he left, his last image of them was the pair crowded in the doorway waving him goodbye.

 

Once Greg was a respectable distance away, he turned on the spot and Disapparated.

 

Unfriendly eyes watched him go then turned their attention to Rose and Hugh’s house. Their owner hissed when it sensed the protective charms and wards Greg had placed around the property and on the people inside.

 

So the Lestrades were untouchable. Gregory Lestrade was not and the enraged watcher swore he would have his vengeance.

 

TBC.


	6. December

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg discovers a secret about Mycroft before going home for Christmas and a seaside walk brings a surprise for Mycroft.

DECEMBER

  
  


Christmas was getting closer and there was a quiet air of anticipation throughout the castle. There were roaring fires in every room and the house elves in the kitchen produced warming stews and puddings to help keep the cold out. Outside the grounds were covered in a thick, glistening carpet of snow.

 

One Saturday Greg found himself, along with Mycroft and Filius Flitwick, conscripted into helping decorate the twelve Christmas trees that graced the Great Hall. 

 

He produced gold and silver stars from the end of his wand which he draped artfully from the branches and seemingly endless streams of baubles in cheerful festive colours. Once they were decorated to Filch’s exacting standards, Greg levitated Professor Flitwick to the top of each tree so he could place a huge star atop each one.

 

With a final flick of his wand, the trees shimmered, gradually changing colour every few seconds.

 

“Thank you, everyone.” said Professor Flitwick in his squeaky voice. “It looks marvellous.”

 

“Any plans for the rest of the day, Gregory?” Mycroft enquired.

 

“I'm going to pop down to Hogsmeade to pick up a few Christmas presents. The kids will all be down there next weekend and there will be nothing left.”

 

“Very true,” laughed Mycroft. 

 

“Fancy tagging along?” Greg asked casually. “We could get a drink afterwards.”

 

Mycroft smiled, his eyes alight with pleasure.

 

“Yes, I'd like that very much.”

 

“Great. Meet me outside in fifteen minutes. And wrap up, It's Baltic out there.”

 

Mycroft found Greg waiting outside, warmly wrapped in his cloak and scarf and, dear lord, no, carrying a broomstick of all the fiendish devices invented by wizardkind!

 

Greg saw Mycroft's look of apprehension.

 

“It's okay, I'm a good flier. There's too much snow for me to walk through, I'd never make it.”

 

“Perhaps I should meet you in the village,” suggested Mycroft, hoping the raw panic in his voice wasn't too obvious.

 

“Don't be daft. Hop on,” said Greg.

 

Bowing to the inevitable, Mycroft straddled the broomstick and wrapped his arms tightly around Greg’s waist. He had imagined holding Greg close many times but never in such hellacious circumstances as this.

 

He bit back a shriek of terror as Greg kicked off hard from the ground and they flew high over the treetops to Hogsmeade.Greg hadn’t been lying;he was an excellent flier even on the old Shooting Star, and they landed safely just outside the Three Broomsticks.

 

Greg dismounted along with Mycroft and placed the broom in the broomshed. It was only then he noticed Mycroft’s deathly pallor.

 

“Shit, Mycroft. What’s wrong? “

 

Mycroft blushed furiously which warred with the pale green of his complexion. Green won out and he stumbled behind the pub and vomited quietly. He spat into the snow and Vanished the steaming pile of what had been his breakfast. Then he felt Greg’s hand on his shoulder.

 

“Are you okay?” asked Greg anxiously.

 

Mycroft nodded, his eyes closed. He felt himself being steered into the pub and sat on a stool then Greg pressed a glass of brandy into his hands. He swallowed it down in one and felt the tendrils of warmth creep through him chasing away the cold horror.

 

“What was all that about? Did something not agree with you?” asked Greg, his face alive with concern.

 

“Not...exactly. The truth is Gregory, I’m terrified of heights. And flying.I try and avoid it whenever I can. Even at school I had a note excusing me from flying lessons. I thought it would diminish as I got older but alas it appears I am as bad as ever.”

 

He expected Greg to laugh. Or smirk. He didn’t expect him to take his hands in his and squeeze them tight.

 

“You idiot. Why didn’t you say something? “

 

“I did try,” Mycroft reminded him. “But I didn’t want you to think…”

 

“What? That you were less than perfect? Oh, Mycroft. Everyone’s got something they’re ashamed of. Now I know I promise, no more heights. Or flying. And I won’t tell anyone. Deal?”

 

“Deal.Now why don’t we make a start on your shopping?” said Mycroft.

 

“If you’re sure you’re okay,” said Greg dubiously. 

 

“The effects wear off quite quickly once I’m back on terra firma,” Mycroft assured him. “Though...perhaps I might lean on you for a while? The brandy has made me a little lightheaded.”

 

Greg extended his arm and Mycroft accepted it most gratefully, leaning close to Greg as the walked out of the pub.

 

They slowly progressed through Hogsmeade, stopping at Gladrags to buy a present for Rose, Honeydukes to stock up on a selection of their best chocolate and sweets for Hugh and Scrivenshaft's where Mycroft was made to wait outside while Greg made his selection, finally stopping at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes.

 

“What on earth do you want from here, Gregory?” asked Mycroft as they entered the noisy, colourful shop.

 

“Rose told me that her and Hugh are fostering a little boy for a few weeks while his mum is in hospital. He’s going to be there over Christmas so I’d better see if I can find him something Muggle-appropriate.”

 

Greg explained what he wanted to the young witch in magenta robes behind the counter. She suggested a number of things and Greg ended up buying all of them.

 

Heavily-laden with packages and starting to feel the cold, they returned to the Three Broomsticks for mugs of hot Butterbeer. Greg stashed his parcels under the table and took a deep drink from his mug.

 

“So, are you going to your parents for Christmas?” asked Greg.

 

“Yes. Mummy does insist on the whole family being in attendance over the festive period. It should be less tedious this year as Sherlock has asked if he can invite his partner, plus I have already told her I shall be returning to Hogwarts on Boxing Day. How long will you be gone?”

 

“Just a few days. I don’t want to impose on Rose and Hugh for too long, especially if they've got a little one staying. I’ll probably be coming back on Boxing Day as well.That way I can get some work done and some lesson planning sorted before the kids come back.”

 

“ I admire your industry, Gregory. Most of the teachers tend to make the most of the holidays.”

 

“Yeah, well, I want to be good at this, Mycroft. I've been given a second chance and I don’t intend to blow it.”

 

In the end they walked back to Hogwarts, Greg’s wand blowing hot air to melt the snow in front of them while Mycroft carried the broomstick. They shared a quiet grin at that.

 

*

 

The next night Greg was in the pub with Neville and the subject of Christmas came up again.

 

“Two weeks with Hannah,” sighed Neville happily. “I can’t wait!”

 

Greg grinned and sipped his beer.

 

“I’ve got some news” said Neville.

 

“Go on, then,” laughed Greg.

 

“Hannah and I are having a baby,” confessed Neville.

 

“Oh, mate! That’s wonderful news!” Greg exclaimed, hugging him. “Congratulations.”

 

Neville looked like the cat who got the cream.

 

“She’s due at the end of June, so it’s perfect timing. Professor McGonagall knows and I’m telling everyone now that the dangerous time is over. You’re the second person at work.”

 

Greg raised his pint glass and toasted Neville.

 

“To the next generation of the Longbottom dynasty.” he proclaimed.

 

Neville laughed and returned the salute.

 

*

 

The Hogwarts Express was loaded up with students, the majority of the teachers had gone and Greg and Mycroft were two of the last to leave.

 

“See you on Boxing Day,” said Greg with a smile. “I'll have the chessboard ready.” Looking a little shamefaced he handed Mycroft a brightly-wrapped present. “Merry Christmas, Mycroft. I hope you like it.”

 

Mycroft smiled and took the gift from Greg's hand.

 

“Thank you, Gregory. I hope you like yours as well. I will send it directly with Archimedes on Christmas Day. I do hope your parents are used to owl post.”

 

“Yes they are, don't worry. Better get going.”

 

Outside the Hogwarts grounds as he prepared to Disapparate, Greg realised he would miss Mycroft. Which was ridiculous as it was only for a few days but he had become used to seeing him and chatting with him every day but he was heading to Southsea for a family Christmas and he couldn't wait.

 

Greg smiled to himself as he spotted the Christmas wreath hanging on the front door of his parents house. He felt a slight tug around his gut as he walked through the gate and nodded. His wards were holding nicely. He rang the doorbell.

 

Rose answered and dragged him inside into a massive hug, talking at a hundred miles an hour as he followed her into the living room.

 

Just as in his childhood, the room was an explosion of light and colour with every surface covered in Christmas cards. The tree stood there glittering with tinsel and colour changing lights and Greg smiled as he recognised some of the tree decorations he had made in primary school still dangling from the branches in all their hideous glory.

 

Hugh was there too and hugged Greg tight as Greg placed his pile of Christmas gifts under the tree while Rose bustled around making tea for everyone. 

 

Greg had just sat down with his mug and a slice of Christmas cake when a small boy of about five wearing jeans and a Paw Patrol sweatshirt came into the room. He was carrying a very tatty cloth elephant by the ear and he stopped dead when he saw Greg and stuck his thumb in his mouth, his dark eyes wary.

 

“Hello, Daniel. I'm Greg.”

 

Daniel moved closer to Hugh, his eyes still on Greg. Greg smiled and tried to look as unthreatening as possible.

 

“Now Danny. Rose and I said our Greggy would be here for Christmas, didn't we?” rumbled Hugh.

 

Nod.

 

“Say hello then.”

 

Pop. Daniel’s thumb came out of his mouth. “”Lo.”

 

“Hi. I'm only going to be here for a couple of days, don't worry. Are you excited for Christmas?”

 

The little boy shook his head.

 

“Why not?”

 

“Mummy’s sick. Santa won't know where to find me.”

 

Rose rolled her eyes but before she could say anything, Greg got up from his chair and knelt beside the boy.

 

“I'm going to tell you a secret, Daniel. I'm a wizard.”

 

Daniel's eyes grew wide as saucers and his grip tightened on his elephant as Greg pulled out his wand and made the glass angels on the mantelpiece dance.

 

“I know Santa Claus and he's a really busy man so why don't we make a magic sign to stick in the garden so he knows where you are? Should we do that?”

 

Daniel nodded enthusiastically and followed Greg into the kitchen. Half an hour later there was a sign in the garden that said SANTA PLEASE STOP HERE FOR DANIEL CROSSLING and Greg had the honour of sitting next to his new friend as they all tucked into Rose’s corned beef pie and mash. 

 

Hugh smiled at Greg as they washed the dishes while Rose got a faintly protesting Daniel ready for bed.

 

“That was nicely done, Greggy. He's been worried about that since he got here.”

 

“What's his story?” Greg asked.

 

“His mama needed an emergency operation and there was no one else who could take him in. Your mama and I are supposed to be retired but what else could we do? He'll be back home in the New Year, his mama is doing just fine.”

 

“Thank heavens for people like you and Mum.” Greg sighed.

 

“We did a fine job with you,” agreed Hugh.

 

“Yeah, you did.” smiled Greg.

 

*

 

Greg woke on Christmas morning early only to find himself being surveyed by a pair of bright brown eyes.

 

“Santa came.” said Daniel, pointing to the pile of brightly-wrapped presents under the tree.

 

“Told you my magic sign would work,” yawned Greg. “If we wait a bit longer Rose and Hugh can watch you unwrap everything, okay?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Let's see if there are any cartoons to watch on tv while we wait, eh? Don't worry, it's Christmas. We should watch cartoons.”

 

Daniel nodded enthusiastically, plopping down on the carpet with his elephant under one arm as Greg switched on the tv.

 

When Daniel was engrossed in an episode of Teen Titans Greg reattached his prosthesis as discreetly as he could. He could hear noises coming from upstairs and knew it wouldn't be long before his parents joined them.

 

The day passed in a whirl of unwrapping presents and stuffing themselves with Christmas dinner. Greg loosened his trousers as he refused a third helping of Christmas pudding and sat back, utterly replete.

 

The last of the dishes had been dried and put away when there was a hesitant tapping at the living room window.

 

“What on earth is that?” Rose asked.

 

“Owl post. Mum, can you take Daniel into the kitchen for a minute?”

 

He waited till they had gone before opening the window to admit a magnificent eagle owl who was carrying a large package. Hugh nearly fell out of his chair.

 

“Where did he come from?” he asked, fascinated.

 

“His name's Archimedes. He belongs to my friend, Mycroft.”

 

Greg untied the package from the owl’s legs and gently stroked his wing.

 

“Want some water?” he asked.

 

Archimedes tilted his head, hooted and took off again in a swirl of feathers.

 

“You can come back in now, Mum.” Greg yelled.

 

“What was all that about?” Rose asked as she sat back down again. Greg pointed to Daniel who was busy playing with the wooden train set Greg had bought him.

 

“He'll forget me telling him I'm a wizard and the dancing angels but he'll never forget seeing a massive owl delivering a parcel. Got to try and do things right, Mum.”

 

“You're a good boy. So who is it from?”

 

“My friend Mycroft.” Greg replied, his fingers busy on the wrapping paper. Inside was a beautiful leather briefcase in oxblood red and a note.

 

“That's gorgeous,” said Rose.

 

“Practical too, for a teacher.” Hugh added.

 

Inside the wrapping was a note in Mycroft's elegant penmanship.

 

_ Dear Gregory _

 

_ Thank you so much for the beautiful journal and quill. Not to mention the box of Honeydukes Special Assortment. I do hope you like your gift. If it's okay, I would like to call on you and your family tomorrow around twelve then we could travel back to Hogwarts together. If it's not convenient, please let me know by return owl. _

 

_ Merry Christmas to all of you _

 

_ Mycroft _

_ xx _

 

Greg realised he was blushing and the grins on his parents’ faces made it worse.

 

“If it's okay my friend will be coming over tomorrow for a while. I think you'll like him. Then we're going back to school together.”

 

“He'll have to stay for tea,” said Rose firmly. Greg sighed. It looked like Mycroft wasn't going to be spared the parental inquisition.

 

“Fair enough. He's a vegetarian though, so no turkey sandwiches.”

 

Rose cuffed him gently round the head.

 

“As if I would shame you so. Now, who wants to play Monopoly?”

 

*

 

Greg was packed and ready by the time twelve o'clock rolled round the next day. He found he could barely sit still as he anticipated Mycroft's arrival and tried to distract himself by reading Daniel a story from The Tales of Beedle The Bard. 

 

At exactly twelve, the doorbell rang and Greg jumped as if he had just been electrocuted.

 

“I'll get it,” said Rose firmly and Greg sat back down.

 

He heard the door open and Mycroft's deep patrician voice as he entered the house.

 

Rose burst back into the living room clutching a bunch of Christmas roses.

 

“Greggy, your  _ friend _ is here.”

 

By her pleased smile, Rose obviously approved.

 

There in the doorway stood Mycroft. Greg had wondered if he would dress in Muggle clothes for this trip. While Greg couldn't deny that Mycroft looked incredible in wizard’s robes he thought Rose and Hugh might find it a bit much.

 

One glance told him he needn't have worried. Mycroft was wearing a soft navy cashmere jumper and dark trousers under a long navy coat which he was slipping off, at Rose's insistence, along with his gloves and scarf.

 

Hugh had got to his feet and the two men shook hands.

 

“How do you do, Mr Lestrade. I'm Mycroft Holmes. It's a pleasure to meet you.”

 

“Likewise. Have a seat, Mycroft.”

 

“Thank you.” 

 

Mycroft sat beside Greg and Daniel.

 

“Who are you?” asked Daniel.

 

“My name's Mycroft. I'm a friend of Greg's. We teach at the same school.”

 

“Okay,” said Daniel, and nestled up against Greg with easy trust.

 

Mycroft found himself plied with tea and cake and questions all of which he answered with grace and good humour until it was time for him and Greg to leave.

 

Rose hugged him goodbye.

 

“When will we see you again, son?”

 

“I'll try and get back before Easter,” Greg promised. “And I'll be here for your birthday next month. And I'll keep writing.”

 

“You do that. Mycroft, it was lovely to meet you.”

 

“As it was to meet you. Mrs Lestrade, Mr Lestrade. I do hope we meet again.” 

 

“I'm sure we will.” Hugh replied. “Danny, let go. Greggy has to go back to work.”

 

Daniel had a firm grip on Greg which he was trying to loosen. 

 

Greg leaned over and hugged him very gently.

 

“Be a good boy for Rose and Hugh and when your Mum gets home, promise me you'll look after her.”

 

Daniel nodded and finally let go.

 

Greg and Mycroft finally managed to leave with one last wave to the three people crowding the doorway.

 

“I've never been to Portsmouth before,” admitted Mycroft. “Why don't we send our stuff on to Hogwarts and you can show me around a little?”

 

“Yeah, okay.” agreed Greg, as Mycroft Vanished their luggage. “Though I don't know Portsmouth very well either,” he went on. Mycroft raised a quizzical eyebrow. Greg sighed.

 

“I was brought up in Brixton. Mum and Dad moved here when they retired. However we used to come here for our holidays so let me show you the bits I do know.”

 

“Lead on,” said Mycroft with a smile.

 

They walked slowly down the seafront, Greg's stick tapping on the frosted pavement as they passed cafe's and entertainments closed for the holidays ,while the sound of the sea crashing onto the beach was a constant in the background. They seemed to be the only two people in the world that day.

 

“It's very peaceful,” said Mycroft. “Wonderful sea air. I bet it's warm in the summer.”

 

“It is,” agreed Greg. “The beach and the amusements are always packed.”

 

“What is that odd-shaped building I can see in the distance?” Mycroft asked, pointing at a tower that dominated the skyline.

 

“That's the Spinnaker Tower. You can go up there, it's got some amazing views. Or maybe not.” he ended on a chuckle as Mycroft visible paled.

 

Greg skidded slightly and swore.

 

“Sorry. I'm still not that confident on slippery surfaces.”

 

Mycroft took Greg's free hand and held it tight.

 

“I'll look after you, Gregory.” he murmured.

 

Greg squeezed his hand back and moved closer as they continued to walk along the shore lit with sparkling fairy lights.

 

“This is as much as I know.” Greg admitted and Mycroft smiled.

 

“Perhaps we can come back one day and explore it properly.”

 

“I'd like that very much. You need to see the  _ Victory  _ and the  _ Mary Rose  _ as well.”

 

“I shall look forward to it,” said Mycroft. “I suppose we should head back.”

 

“Yeah, I suppose.” Greg mustered his courage and stepped closer. “One more thing before we do. Thank you for my Christmas present.”

 

He leaned in and kissed Mycroft gently on the lips, liking how Mycroft's beard tickled his chin and how Mycroft's arms went round him without hesitation.

 

“Gregory,” sighed Mycroft. “I've longed for that.”

 

“I'm a bit rusty,” Greg confessed. “Let's take it slowly, eh?”

 

“Whatever you want.” agreed Mycroft, holding Greg closer still.

 

TBC

  
  
  
  



	7. January

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are heating up nicely between Greg and Mycroft but Greg still has a few nagging doubts.

JANUARY

  
  
  


“Checkmate.” 

 

Greg's king took off his crown and dropped it at the feet of Mycroft's knight.

 

“You git!” Greg exclaimed as he gathered up the pieces and put them back in their box. Mycroft smiled and held out his wine goblet which Greg topped up with a deep red vintage.

 

“Don't get too pissed,” Greg warned. “There's still the party tonight, don't forget.”

 

“As if I could. Don't worry, Gregory, I will be more than ready for it.”

 

Greg smiled as Mycroft lounged on the sofa. He looked so perfect there, so  _ right  _ that Greg felt like pinching himself to make sure he wasn't dreaming.

 

He picked up his own goblet and sat beside him, his heart beating faster as Mycroft put his arms around him, he felt Mycroft’s lips on his hair and he let out a contented sigh.

 

Since the kiss on Boxing Day, Greg had begun discovering what it was like to be genuinely intimate with another man. His previous encounters had been more notable for their quantity rather than quality, and there was definitely no intimacy involved other than knowing where the other guy's door was so he could make his escape afterwards.

 

They weren't lovers, not yet. Greg wasn't entirely convinced that Mycroft could find his naked form,scarred and mutilated as it was, attractive and he knew Mycroft understood his reluctance.

 

Currently they were behaving like a pair of besotted teenagers, kissing whenever the opportunity presented itself and wandering hands were confined to the top half only. Not that Greg could complain about that, Mycroft was exquisite. His skin was the colour of warm cream flecked with cinnamon and, Greg was delighted to discover, a luxuriant amount of chest hair the same dark coppery colour as the rest of him.

 

Greg thought himself ugly by comparison, hacked and grizzled as an old badger with the same colouring.

 

And yet here they were, content in a gentle embrace till Mycroft stirred and said.

 

“I suppose I should get ready. We might want to get down to Hogsmeade before ten if we want seats, it was full last New Year's eve.”

 

“Good idea, “ replied Greg, a lazy smile on his face. “I bet you look amazing in dress robes.”

 

Mycroft kissed him and left Greg to get himself ready. 

 

He paid particular care during his ablutions to ensure the closest shave and the freshest breath, fresh underwear and a lightly pressed shirt went on before his dress robes.

 

Greg looked at himself critically in the mirror. The colour of the robes suited him but the sparkle in his eyes and the touch of colour in his pale face were what stopped him from scowling at his reflection as he usually did.

 

“Very handsome, Professor.” trilled the mirror and Greg smiled.

 

He sat down with a book to wait for Mycroft so they could walk down together. As usual, Mycroft was extremely punctual.

 

“Come in,” said Greg when the knock came on the door and Mycroft walked in.

 

“Wow!” exclaimed Greg.

 

Mycroft looked nothing short of incredible. His dress robes were a deep apricot colour embroidered with gold thread which added a warm tone to his skin, his beard was neatly trimmed and his usual tumble of coppery curls had been smoothed back. He grinned as he noticed how captivated Greg was.

 

“You look amazing,” said Greg warmly, fighting an impulse to stay in his rooms with Mycroft and undress him very,  _ very _ slowly. “I'm going to be the envy of everyone tonight with you as my partner.”

 

“You do talk a lot of nonsense, Gregory,” said Mycroft but Greg could tell he was pleased with the compliment. “You look very fine as well. That colour suits you.”

 

“Shall we go?” asked Greg as he wrapped himself in his cloak and picked up his walking staff.

 

“Yes, let's get a move on,” replied Mycroft.

 

They held hands on the walk down to Hogsmeade, stopping every so often to admire the beauty of the night sky and for Greg to rest his leg. He would have to make another trip to St. Mungo’s very soon.

 

The Three Broomsticks was packed to the rafters when they arrived but Mycroft managed to acquire a couple of seats at a table at the back while Greg tried to get served at the bar. He returned with two goblets of wine levitating in front of him and nearly dropped them when he saw who Mycroft was talking to.

 

“Professor Sprout! What a lovely surprise.” Greg said warmly.

 

“I'm not your Head of House any more, Gregory. Call me Pomona.”

 

Greg thought retirement had done the Herbology teacher the world of good. She was relaxed and smiling and indicated the seat next to her. Greg sat down with a groan of relief.

 

“Have you met my wife?” she asked. “Wilhelmina, this is Gregory Lestrade. Former chief troublemaker of Hufflepuff.”

 

Greg shook hands with a grey-haired witch wearing a monocle and smoking a pipe.

 

“Good to meet you, Gregory. Teaching at Hogwarts?”

 

“Yes. Defence Against the Dark Arts.”

 

“Excellent. You must come and have tea whenever you're passing. Rose Cottage, just along the road from Madam Puddifoot’s. We're usually in.”

 

“I will.” Greg promised. 

 

“How's Neville coping with the hurly-burly?” Pomona asked. “Never met such a gifted Herbologist in all my years of teaching.”

 

“Great. His wife's pregnant.”

 

“Lovely girl. She was in my House, Hannah. Well, I suppose I'll have to see if my knitting charms still work, eh?” The two women shared a deeply affectionate look.

 

Greg smiled. It was genuinely touching to see two people so happy and so obviously in love.

 

As the clock ticked down to midnight and the start of another year, Mycroft shuffled closer to Greg.

 

“No one else gets to kiss you first” he muttered.

 

“Why would I want them to?” Greg asked as the chimes that heralded the New Year struck and Greg embraced Mycroft, kissing him deeply while the rest of the world vanished to the two of them.

 

“Happy New Year, love.” said Greg when they finally broke for air.

 

“Happy New Year, my heart.” Mycroft whispered, their foreheads still touching.

 

Madam Rosmerta declared the party officially open and there was a surge of people heading outside to the magically-heated marquee where the food was and where beer and wine barrels had been broached.

 

Greg found himself with a plate of food in one hand and a mug of beer in the other, watching Mycroft work the room, chatting with acquaintances.

 

“So you and Mycroft. Lovers are you?” asked Pomona Sprout.

 

“Not exactly. We're courting, I suppose you could say. Keep it under your hat though. I'm not sure what Minerva thinks of office romances.”

 

Pomona laughed heartily.

 

“I wouldn't worry. As long as you both do your jobs it'll be fine. There's no actual  _ rule  _ as such. Besides, Minerva McGonagall is the world's biggest romantic. She'll love the fact that you two got together on her watch.” 

 

Greg snorted disbelievingly but Pomona seemed deadly serious so he shrugged.

 

“We'll cross that bridge when we come to it. Can I get you another drink?”

 

*

 

The party broke up around four in the morning and everyone staggered off home. Mycroft and Greg had their arms around each other each holding the other up.

 

It took ages for them to  walk back to the castle, spontaneous snogs and inadvertent sideways staggering didn't help and by the time they reached the castle entrance they were both helpless with laughter.

 

Mycroft nudged Greg up against the wall of the Entrance Hall and kissed him again. Despite the booze, Greg felt himself harden and his hands straying to Mycroft's arse and pulling him close made sure he got the message.

 

Mycroft hummed with pleasure.

 

“I'd love to take you to bed,” admitted Greg. “But we'd be far too pissed to enjoy it.”

 

Mycroft rolled his hips against Greg's to ensure Greg knew he wasn't the only one who wanted it.

 

“Soon, my love. Please?”

 

“That's a promise.” Greg said firmly.

 

*

 

Greg woke late that afternoon with an aching head and an overfull bladder. Once the latter was taken care of he made his way to the Potions master's rooms to find there was a small queue for Horace’s famous hangover cure. Considering the man himself had been partying to the very end, he looked disgustingly chipper. He handed Greg a crystal phial.

 

“Get that down you, lad.”

 

“Cheers,” said Greg thankfully and downed the lot. Within seconds he felt a whole lot better.

 

“You are a gift of the gods, Horace.” Greg said and the old man chuckled.

 

Back in his rooms Greg removed his prosthesis and examined the end of his stump. It looked raw; even the stuff the Healer had provided didn't seem to be doing it much good. Theorising that it would be acceptable to use his crutches for one day he sat at his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of parchment.

 

_ Dear John  _ he wrote, then paused. There was a perfectly good Healer in the castle but the thought of going to Madam Pomfrey with his issues made him squirm. He picked up.his quill again.

 

_ I was hoping to have another appointment with you, preferably before the start of next term. My stump is still giving me some grief but there is another matter I'd like to talk to you about. I know what an excellent diagnostician you are, and that's what I need. _

 

_ Yours sincerely _

 

_ Gregory Lestrade. _

  
  
  


Happy with the wording, Greg sealed it and waited for Minnie to return from hunting, which she did shortly afterwards.

 

“Take this to John Watson at St Mungo's, okay? And wait for a reply.” She hooted reassuringly and took off into the already darkening sky.

 

Mycroft was off visiting his parents that day and Greg would have bet everything he owned that he had been first in the queue at Slughorn’s office that morning,  so Greg contented himself with a mug of cocoa and a good book in front of the fire.

 

Minnie returned the next morning while Greg was having breakfast. She helped herself to some of his cornflakes before taking off for a good sleep in the Owlery. He opened the letter, read it and grunted with satisfaction.

 

He called into the Headmistress's office after breakfast.

 

“I'm going to London for the day,” he announced. “I've got an appointment at St Mungo's.”

 

Ever since news of Dolohov’s escape had reached Hogwarts, she had insisted her staff let her know if they would be absent from the castle for longer than a trip to Hogsmeade. Greg didn't mind, he rarely ventured further these days.

 

“Thank you for letting me know, Gregory. My regards to Healer Watson.”

 

“Yeah. I'll be back for dinner probably.”

 

She nodded and turned her attention back to the parchment on her desk.

 

*

 

John was waiting for him in the reception area when Greg made his way through the protective charms around the building.

 

“Hi,” he said, looking concerned. “Come into my office and let me take a look.”

 

He carefully examined Greg's stump, his cool fingers gentle on the sore skin as the quill on his desk scribbled independently on a piece of parchment.

 

“I think you've just been overdoing it a bit,” he concluded. “I'll give you a different cream to try and I'll thicken up the padding a bit so it doesn't chafe.”

 

“Thanks, John.”

 

As John got to work he asked casually.

 

“What was that bit about you needing a diagnostician? You're not ill, are you?”

 

Greg felt the heat building up in his face. This was going to be awkward.

 

“No. Look, John this is a bit embarrassing. I'm about to start a new sexual relationship…”

 

“You mean you and Mycroft haven't had sex yet? I'm surprised. You were all he could talk about over Christmas.”

 

“How the hell...oh, you're fucking kidding me!”

 

John grinned as he finished the padding and stood up.

 

“I've been seeing Sherlock for months now. All thanks to you.”

 

“I don't believe it,” muttered Greg then shook himself. “Congratulations then, I suppose. Um…”

 

“Look Greg whatever it is, I'm still your doctor and bound by the same oaths as I always was. What's bothering you?”

 

“I want you to test me for all the STD’s you're aware of. I had a pretty wild time of it before and after I lost my leg and rode pretty much bareback all the way. When Mycroft and I do finally have sex, I don't want there to be any surprises.”

 

“Fair enough,” said John, rummaging in the cupboard for something. He produced a glass beaker.

 

“Pee in that.” Greg obliged.

 

“Right. Now spit in that.”

 

That was a crystal bowl filled with a clear substance. Greg watched as it changed colour.

 

“Does it hurt when you pee or have you noticed any unusual discharge?” Greg shook.his head.

 

“Slept with any Muggles?” asked John. Greg shrugged.

 

“Last thing on my mind was their Blood Status, mate, to be honest.” 

 

“Fair enough, though Muggles do.have some pretty revolting diseases. It's okay Greg, it's not my place to judge but I'm going to need some blood.”

 

Greg winced as John extracted just enough blood to fill a small phial.

 

He watched with interest as John passed his wand over the samples of his bodily fluids, the quill scratching away as John made his observations.

 

Finally he was done.

 

“Looks like you're clean. Well, almost.”

 

“Almost?”

 

“One of these spells takes a couple of days to give an accurate result. It's a Muggle disease that you  _ really _ don't want to be passing on to anyone so until I get the results, I'd keep it in your pants.”

 

“And if I've got whatever it is, can you cure it?”

 

John glared at him.

 

“Yes of course. All you'll need to do is take a certain potion for a week.  _ If  _ you've got it. I'll owl you as soon as I get the results.”

 

“Thanks, John. I appreciate it.”

 

“That's what I'm here for. Now rest your leg as much as you can for now and give the new cream a chance to work. I'll be in touch the second I know your results.”

 

They shook hands and Greg returned to Hogwarts in a philosophical frame of mind only to find Mycroft had also returned and had wasted no time in seeking Greg out.

 

Seeing him sober made the paralyzing self-doubt set it again. How could someone so beautiful want a wreck like him?

 

“Mycroft, before we take this any further I need to tell you something.”

 

Mycroft looked serious.

 

“You've changed your mind.” he said flatly.

 

“No! God, no, but you might after I tell you this. I've had a lot.of different sexual partners, most of them, well, I didn't even know their names. If you and I take the next step then I need you to know this, okay? Also I'm having tests run at St Mungo's to make sure I don't pass on anything to you should I have it.”

 

Greg felt relieved at getting that off his chest but was surprised at the tender smile on Mycroft's face.

 

“Thank you for being so honest,” he said. “In the interests of full disclosure, I'm not a virgin either. There have been a couple of clandestine relationships but nothing for a while. I like my men to be older and much more experienced and you fit that description perfectly, Gregory. We’ve waited this long, it won't hurt to wait just a little longer, will it?”

 

Greg let out a huge sigh of relief.

 

“No, it won't. Chess?”

 

“Chess.” agreed Mycroft with a grin.

  
  


TBC

 


	8. February

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg takes Mycroft on a Saturday afternoon date. Followed by some afternoon delight.

FEBRUARY

 

“Right, you lot.” said Greg sternly to his fifth-year students.  “I've marked your last lot of homework as if it were handed to me in your OWL exam.”

 

With a flick of his wand the parchment scrolls soared off his desk and landed on the desks of their creators.

 

“Frankly, I'm a bit disappointed that only a couple of you scraped an ‘E'. You must try harder. Please remember that it won't be me who sets your exam this year and study accordingly. You're all ready for this, you just need to push yourselves. Right, I'm going to hand out some practice OWL papers. Pick a theory question and answer it in as much detail as you can. If there's any time left, we will discuss the  _ Homenum Revelio  _ spell. Very useful in defence. Right.”

 

Greg handed out a paper to each student. “You have half an hour. You may begin.”

 

There was a lot of muttering and sideways glances at this but they did as they were told and soon the only sound in the classroom was the scratching of quills on parchment.

 

Greg wondered if he was being too hard on them but he remembered his own OWL year with Professor...Greg couldn't remember his name, he'd had seven of them in his time at Hogwarts… if that man had had a whip, he'd have used it. 

 

“Homework.” Greg said at the conclusion of his lesson. He indicated the three books on his desk. “These have to be read and summarised by this time next week. You've got all weekend. Class dismissed.”

 

“What the f-” mumbled a student.

 

“Detention, Mr Williams.” said Greg. “That is unacceptable language.”

 

All in all Greg was relieved that his last class of the day were Gryffindor first-years who were more than happy to examine and play with his Dark detectors, gaining twenty points for their House by making the Sneakoscope light up and spin.

 

He made it to the Great Hall for dinner and picked listlessly at his cottage pie.

 

“What's up?” Neville asked. He didn't appear to be particularly hungry either.

 

“My OWL students hate me. Probably more than my NEWT students.”

 

“Don't worry, mate. They hate me as well. You must admit, we're piling the pressure on.” sighed Neville.

 

“Apparently I'm a graffiti legend in the toilets “ chimed in Mycroft with a grimace. “According to Mr Filch. I do wish he wouldn't  _ leer _ so when he tells me.”

 

“It's for their own good though, isn't it?” Greg didn't like the doubt in his own voice.” I mean, we went through it. We wouldn't be the wizards we are today if we hadn't.”

 

“True.” Neville conceded.

 

Greg pushed his plate away and stood up.

 

“I'm off. Got a load of marking to do and a detention to supervise. See you later.”

 

Greg was halfway through his marking and wondering if he should stock up on more red ink when there was a knock at his door.

 

“Come in,” he said. Mycroft walked over to him and kissed him.

 

“Best thing that's happened today,” sighed Greg, pulling Mycroft onto his lap so he could kiss him again.

 

“It gets easier, Gregory.” said Mycroft soothingly. 

 

“I just want them all to do well,” sighed Greg. “To prove I'm not wasting my breath.”

 

“You're not,” said Mycroft firmly. “A student in one of my classes actually argued with me on a point of spellcraft and said she had learned that from you.”

 

“Really? You didn't yell at her, did you?”

 

“On the contrary, she got twenty points for Ravenclaw. You have the ability to inspire debate and encourage fresh thinking, Gregory, as well as being able to teach your subject well.”

 

“I'm blushing here,” laughed Greg and Mycroft looked stern.

 

“I'm being serious, Gregory.”

 

“I know, love. Thank you for that.”

 

“I won't stay as you've got a lot of work to do. Have you had any word from St Mungo's?”

 

“No, but the two weeks will be up soon and then I can finally take you to bed.”

 

Mycroft kissed him again, a perfect kiss with just the right amount of tongue, enough to make Greg breathless.

 

“I can't wait,” murmured Mycroft, slipping off Greg's lap and closing the door behind him.

 

Greg sat for a while, smiling to himself, then picked up his quill and carried on with his work, tutting occasionally under his breath when he came across a particularly badly-phrased sentence or downright wrong statement. Finally he was finished and set his quill down with a groan, rubbing his eyes which felt like they had been sandblasted. 

 

There was a tap at his window and he walked over and opened it, admitting Minnie who had a letter attached to her leg.

 

“Finally!” Greg exclaimed as he detached it and noted the crossed wand and bone symbol on the envelope.

 

He plied Minnie with Owl Treats and opened his letter, flashing back to the last time he'd had post from John Watson.

 

_ “One of your tests has come back positive _ .  _ It's imperative you get here as soon as you can so I can begin treatment and, for the love of witchcraft, don't shag Mycroft.” _

 

_ He had gone to St Mungo's that day where John was waiting for him. John had told him what he had contracted. It sounded to Greg like something you'd order in an Italian restaurant until John explained in graphic detail what would happen if it were left untreated. Greg swallowed the utterly disgusting potion without complaint. Having his brain rot away while his nose decayed and he went blind was not a pleasant thought. Explaining it to Mycroft was worse again, but he had been understanding and quite pleased at his partner's foresight. Greg had taken the potion every day for a week then had been subjected to more tests which had come back clear. John had warned him he would need one final set before he could consider himself clean and these had been done a week previously. _

 

The letter was short and to the.point.

 

_ Dear Greg.  _

 

_ You're officially clear of all known sexually transmitted diseases. Potion therapy has been completely effective in eradicating your syphilis. _

 

_ Sincerely _

 

_ John Watson  _

 

Greg grinned to himself. This was perfect. He set himself to.planning the perfect seduction of Mycroft Holmes and was still considering it as he supervised a group of second-years scrubbing graffiti off the toilet walls in detention.

 

*

 

Greg sneaked down to the kitchens after breakfast on the Saturday morning. Ravenclaw were playing Gryffindor at Quidditch that day and Greg knew the school would be otherwise occupied. He tickled the pear in the fruit bowl painting and, when it giggled and turned into a handle, Greg stepped inside.

 

A dozen house elves wearing Hogwarts tea towels bowed to him.

 

“What can we do for Professor Lestrade?” asked one.

 

“I'm planning to take someone on a picnic. I don't suppose…”

 

“Say no more, sir! We is happy to help!”

 

“The other person is a vegetarian!” Greg yelled at their disappearing backs. In no time four of them came scuttling back with an honest-to-goodness wicker picnic basket packed to the brim with food.

 

“This is excellent,” said Greg sincerely. “Thank you very much indeed.” The elves looked delighted at his praise.

 

“Enjoy your date, sir” said one which made the rest giggle and Greg blush as he wondered how many times over the years the elves had been asked for the same thing.

 

He left the basket in the Entrance Hall hidden with a Cloaking Charm and made his way to Mycroft's office.

 

“Grab your cloak,” he said without preamble. “We're going on a picnic.”

 

“Very well. As long as we don't need to fly anywhere,” smiled Mycroft as he took his cloak from the peg on the wall and followed Greg downstairs.

 

“This might be too heavy to carry,” said Greg. “I'll send it on.”

 

With a wave of his wand, the basket vanished.

 

“Shall we?” Greg asked with a roguish grin. Mycroft replied with one of his own as they left the castle hand-in-hand.

 

Past the village, the countryside was a little wilder and Greg led Mycroft  to where the basket had materialised, beside the banks of a fast- flowing brook.

 

As Mycroft spread the rug on the grass, Greg performed a series of protective charms that ensued he and Mycroft were shielded from the sight of others and were kept warm for, although the sun was shining, it was still February in the Highlands.

 

He sat on the rug next to Mycroft and rummaged in the basket, pulling out plates and cutlery before unloading the food.

 

“Let's see. We've got, blimey, just about everything in here.” said Greg laying out pork pies, chicken legs and sandwiches. Noting Mycroft's look of distaste he dug deeper and produced a vegetable quiche, salad and dips, crisp fried halloumi and stuffed peppers. The last items he withdrew were a bottle of champagne and two crystal flutes. He popped the cork and poured as Mycroft helped himself to some of the salad.

 

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Gregory?” 

 

“Do I need to?”

 

“Not to seduce me, my heart.”

 

“Bang goes my evil plan then, “ laughed Greg.

 

Mycroft raised a sarcastic eyebrow then laughed.

 

“I thought this would be more romantic,” confessed Greg,”than turning up at your office and telling you to get your clothes off.”

 

“Has that  _ ever _ worked? I'm curious.”

 

“Dunno. I'm not that much of a Neanderthal.”

 

They sat in silence for a while, sipping the champagne and nibbling on the food, trading bites of egg mayonnaise on crusty bread.

 

“Argh, it's all over my fingers,” complained Greg.

 

Mycroft took his hand and slowly, methodically, licked every drop of mayonnaise off Greg's fingers. 

 

Greg watched, utterly mesmerized as the warm pull of Mycroft's mouth made a part of him sit up and beg.

 

Mycroft leaned closer and kissed him, the taste of champagne still on his lips.

 

“Let's go back,” muttered Greg. “We need to be behind a lockable door for the things I want to do to you.”

 

“Quite. I think we've waited long enough.” agreed Mycroft.

 

They returned to the castle as quickly as they could and upstairs even quicker. The castle was practically deserted with most people watching the match.

 

“My office is nearest,” said Mycroft, guiding Greg inside and locking the door behind them. Greg took a minute to cast a Silencing Charm and a Do Not Disturb hex on the door before turning to Mycroft again.

 

Mycroft took Greg's hand and led him to his bedroom, lit by weak winter sunlight. They undressed each other slowly, taking time to appreciate, to touch and caress every inch of skin as it was revealed, Mycroft edging Greg closer to the bed until he toppled over backwards finding his arms full of naked, needy and aroused Mycroft.

 

“You are magnificent,” whispered Mycroft, the tips of his long fingers caressing the scars on his body that Greg found so abhorrent, all he could do was moan in wordless pleasure as those fingers stroked the hard length of him,smearing pre-come over the head of his shaft.

 

One swift movement detached his prosthesis and Mycroft straddled his waist, his blue/grey eyes hazy with want. He bent over to claim Greg's mouth again and whispered.

 

“Show me how to fly.”

 

Greg's hands slid down to Mycroft’s arse and cupped it gently, a finger sliding into the cleft of his buttocks and massaging his entrance. Mycroft threw his head back and groaned aloud.

 

“In the drawer,” he panted.

 

Greg reached into the drawer on the bedside table and found the bottle of lube. His suddenly -slick fingers went back to preparing his lover and almost before he could draw another breath, Mycroft was guiding Greg's cock inside him.

 

“You feel so good inside me, Gregory.” Mycroft breathed, his mouth curved into a divine smile. “So good…”

 

Greg fisted Mycroft's erection as his lover rode him, angling his hips upwards deeper into Mycroft's slick heat.

 

“So close…” Mycroft whispered, his face a picture of ecstasy. “Gregory…”

 

With an almost soundless cry Greg felt him spill over his hand, with Greg following a heartbeat later, drawing Mycroft to him and holding on as if he were the only real thing in the universe.

 

He stroked Mycroft's sweaty mess of fiery curls as they recovered with Mycroft's arms tight around him, his beard tickly against Greg's chest.

 

As they lay together, Greg summoned enough energy to conjure some warm, damp cloths to clean them up. As he did so, he laughed.

 

“What?” asked Mycroft, a half-smile on his lips.

 

“You are a proper dark horse, Mycroft Holmes “ teased Greg. “You act so prim and proper but underneath you're a right little firecracker, aren't you? I don't think I've ever had sex as good as that.”

 

“I'm flattered,” replied Mycroft. “Though you do bring out my passionate side, Gregory. And for the record, you are exceptional in bed.”

 

“This is going to be quite an adventure,” said Greg.

 

Mycroft kissed him hard on the mouth as his fingers stroked the hollow of Greg's throat.

 

“I do hope so,” Mycroft replied, then kissed him again.

 

TBC

  
  



	9. March

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dolohov ups his game and Greg pays a visit to Musgrave Hall

MARCH

 

Greg lounged in the blood warm bath water watching Mycroft swimming around like a seal. He moved in water the way he moved everywhere else, with an understated grace.

 

Mycroft swam up to Greg and wrapped his legs around his waist as Greg kissed him.

 

“Ready for another go already?” laughed Greg. Mycroft grinned, his wet lashes clumped together like starfish. 

 

“Hardly, my heart. You've completely worn me out. Not that I'm complaining. You are the most exhilarating lover I've ever had, Gregory.”

 

“And you are the most incredible man.” said Greg, “Being with you fulfils me in a way I didn't think was even possible. I wake up every morning with a ridiculous sense of excitement and it's all thanks to you, love.”

 

“I feel the same,” replied Mycroft, his eyes shining. “There is no one quite like you, my heart.”

 

Greg sighed with pleasure. In the short weeks since they had made love for the first time he had found it almost impossible to contemplate a life without Mycroft in it. Knowing Mycroft felt the same was just the icing on the cake. 

 

“There's no one who'll resemble a human prune like me if I don't get out of this bath soon,” said Greg with a smile.

 

They both got out of the swimming-pool sized tub. Greg wrapped a towel around his middle as he surveyed the wreck the two of them had made in the teachers bathroom prior to their spontaneous dip.

 

“We did get rather carried away, grinned Mycroft, scrubbing his wet hair with a towel.

 

“Soon fixed,” smiled Greg as he picked up his wand. “ _ Scourgify.” _

 

As he dried and dressed himself, the used towels flew into the hamper on the far wall and the bath returned to its former pristine state.

 

“There. Now give me a kiss before you disappear, gorgeous.”

 

Mycroft was happy to oblige. By mutual consent they had decided never to spend the night in each other's bed for many reasons, not least of which was that they were still not entirely sure their relationship would be allowed. That didn't stop Greg daydreaming about one day waking up with Mycroft in his arms.

 

Greg stuck his head out of the bathroom door to check there was no one around, then they left together, nodding to the ghost of the Fat Friar as they passed him.

 

“Gregory. Mycroft. There you are.” Professor McGonagall was walking towards them. Under her normally stern expression she looked worried.

 

“What's wrong?” Greg asked.

 

“I'm telling everyone as I find them but this is particularly relevant to you both. I've just had word from the Ministry. There have been a number of attacks in the south. The Muggle police are baffled of course, but it appears to be the work of Dolohov.”

 

Greg hissed and Mycroft turned pale. 

 

“Wait a minute. The south? Where exactly?” asked Greg.

 

“ Brighton.Southampton. Hayling Island.”

 

“The fucker’s trying to draw me out!” Greg snarled. “Sorry for the language, Minerva.”

 

She looked anxiously at him.

 

“The Auror Office is all over this, Gregory. The best thing you can do is remain here at present. However it is almost Easter, no one would object to you going back for the holidays. You as well, Mycroft. Surrey isn't a million miles away from this.”

 

“Musgrave is exceptionally well-protected, Headmistress.” Mycroft replied. “However, I see no harm in spending more time with my family.”

 

“Good. Do whatever you feel necessary to protect your families. With any luck he will be caught soon. I must find the rest of the staff. Please excuse me.”

 

Mycroft took Greg's hands in his but his lover scowled and tried to pull away.

 

“Gregory! Look at me.”

 

Grudgingly Greg obeyed.

 

“You're not going to go and do something stupid, are you?”

 

“You don't understand. I  _ should _ be out there. I should be hunting down that murderous bastard myself instead of hiding away in here. Of all the things I lost, the fact that I can never do my job again hurts more than anything.”

 

“Gregory…”

 

“Goodnight, Mycroft.”

 

Greg walked away, choking on the words he hadn't dared to say for love of the man in front of him. Mycroft would never, ever understand what he had sacrificed and in that moment, Greg felt nothing but resentment bordering on hate.

 

In bed that night he tossed and turned, unable to sleep for worrying about Rose and Hugh.  According to Rose, little Daniel had gone home to his incredibly grateful mum and they would probably never see him again, but that didn't stop him. 

 

And he had probably upset Mycroft as well which needed to be fixed sooner rather than later.  With a heavy sigh Greg got up and pulled on his dressing gown. Grabbing his crutches he made his way along the corridor to Mycroft's office.

 

He passed two girls from his NEWT class who were walking hand in hand. When they saw him they blushed but didn't stop holding each other's hands and Greg liked them all the more for that.

 

“Professor Lestrade! We were...um…” stuttered one.

 

“You should both be in your own dormitories,” he said gently. “If anyone else but me sees you out of your common rooms at this time, you'll get detention. And you've got enough on your plate this year without that. Go on, shoo.”

 

They scuttled off, still holding hands while Greg continued on.

 

Mycroft's door was unlocked which made Greg shake his head but he pushed the door open and crutched inside, heading for the bedroom.

 

Mycroft was reading by candlelight but the book slipped from his fingers as he caught sight of Greg and he sat up.

 

“Gregory, it's three in the morning!”

 

“I know. I couldn't sleep.”

 

“Me either.” Mycroft patted the quilt in invitation and Greg sat down thankfully.

 

“I wanted to apologise.” Greg began. “I was a dick. You were only trying to look out for me. I'm sorry, Mycroft.”

 

“It's fine, Gregory. I understand but please don't think for one moment that I don't appreciate what was taken from you. I do and I know how it burns you.”

 

Mycroft's eyes were blazing and Greg promised to never underestimate him again.

 

“You're right, I do miss it but thanks to you and everyone here I'm beginning to think that being an Auror isn't all I can be.”

 

Mycroft smiled but there were dark shadows under his eyes.

 

“You're worn out.” said Greg abruptly. “You should get some sleep.”

 

“Stay with me,” said Mycroft, placing his book carefully in the bedside table and lying down again. 

 

Greg slid off his dressing gown and climbed under the duvet, spooning up behind Mycroft. They fit together perfectly and Greg felt his eyes growing heavy.

 

“Goodnight, love.” he whispered. 

 

In the morning Greg found his wish fulfilled, waking up to a bed-warm Mycroft with a sleepy, sensual smile that Greg could resist no more than he could gravity. They both made their first class of the morning but it was a close-run thing.  

 

*

 

On the last weekend before the holidays, Greg and Mycroft made another visit to Hogsmeade, where Greg stocked up on Easter eggs for Hugh and Rose and Mycroft bought gifts for his own parents, muttering something about their distaste for chocolate.

 

“It's going to be a long couple of weeks,” said Greg abruptly as they made their way back to the castle. “I'll miss you.”

 

“As I will you,” sighed Mycroft. “If you think...if your parents aren't in danger and you wouldn't be too bored…” Mycroft stuttered himself into red-faced silence.

 

“What?” laughed Greg. He had never seen Mycroft look so uncomfortable.

 

“I might prevail on you to come and spend some time at Musgrave.”

 

“That would be lovely,” replied Greg. “I'd really like that.”

 

“Excellent. That will give me something to look forward to.”

 

*

 

When Greg returned to Southsea one of the first things he did was sit his parents down and tell them of the potential danger they were in.

 

“He's hunting you?” Hugh looked ready to explode with rage. “I'll tear him apart.”

 

“Dad, you can't. It's me he's after but in order to get to me he may try and hurt you or Mum. And that would kill me.”

 

Hugh put a protective arm around his wife.

 

“What do you need us to do?” he asked.

 

“I've warded the house. No one can get in unless you invite them. Just be a bit more cautious. Do you guys remember my favourite film when I was a nipper?”

 

“Of course we do, Greggy.”

 

“That's the password. Someone may turn up here that looks and sounds like me but if they don't know that password, don't let them in.”

 

“How is that even possible?” Hugh asked.

 

“Polyjuice Potion. It's terrible stuff. But that's the worst-case scenario. With any luck, he'll be caught soon and everything will be fine.”

 

*

 

On Easter Sunday Greg went with his parents to church, finding a strange comfort in the rituals of his childhood, then he took them home, helping Rose in the kitchen with the dinner, chatting about Hogwarts and his students until Rose said.

 

“Mycroft. Is he your boyfriend, Greggy?”

 

Greg almost dropped the dish of potatoes he was about to put in the oven.

 

“Er, yes I suppose he is.”

 

“I'm glad for you. He's very handsome. Is he kind, Greggy? Is he good to you?”

 

“Yes, Mum. He is. I adore him.”

 

“That's good.” Rose said with a satisfied smile.

 

“Gregory!” Hugh bellowed from the living room. Greg looked at Rose in alarm and hurried out of the kitchen, Rose hard on his heels.

 

“What's wrong? Oh, Dad. You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

 

Greg couldn't help but laugh at Hugh’s horrified expression. Archimedes had taken a perch next to Minnie and they were grooming each other.

 

“ _ I _ nearly had a heart attack!” Hugh grumbled.” That massive bird flying in the window. And what's he doing to your girl?”

 

“Saying hello,” replied Greg as he took the attached letter off the owl's leg. “They're friends.”

 

_ My darling Gregory  _ (read the note)

 

_ I have missed you so much these past days that it feels like a physical ache. I hope this finds you and your parents safe and well. Whenever you feel ready to visit, Musgrave will be ready to welcome you. I need hardly say how thrilled my parents were when I told them.  _

 

_ Make it soon, my heart. _

 

_ M _

_ xxx _

 

“It's from Mycroft. He's asked me to go and stay with him and his parents for a few days.”

 

“Oooh!” Rose clapped her hands. “Meeting his parents! That's a big step.”

 

She nudged Hugh.

 

“Hear that? It's getting serious.”

 

“Leave him alone, Rose” said Hugh with a grin. “When will you go, son?”

 

“Tomorrow, I think. I just need to write him a note and let him know.” Greg took a pen from the jar on the mantelpiece and scribbled a brief note on a fragment of parchment. He tied it to Archimedes’s leg and told Minnie to go with him.

 

“Wait for me at Musgrave, darling.” he said as she perched on his arm and sleeked her feathers for take-off. She swooped out of the window, hot on Archimedes’s trail.

 

“I'd better go and pack,” said Greg.

 

*

 

The next day Greg arrived at Musgrave Hall. He had been expecting some kind of Disney-draws-Gormenghast ancestral pile but what he actually saw was a handsome hall built of warm Cotswold stone that looked inviting with nicely-kept grounds and a wall which ran all the way round.

 

As he approached the gates slammed shut and the wrought iron transformed into a stern face.

 

“State your business.” it said.

 

“I'm expected. Greg Lestrade for Mycroft Holmes.”

 

The gates transformed again and swung open to admit him. When he reached the front door, Mycroft was waiting for him, a warm smile on his face, and Greg didn't hesitate to walk into his open arms.

 

“Missed you,” mumbled Greg into the soft skin of Mycroft’s neck.

 

“Me too.” Mycroft admitted. “Leave your things, they'll be taken care of. Come and say hello to my parents.”

 

Mycroft took his hand and led him into the sitting room. As he had expected, there were a load of family portraits and a few suits of armour but the rest of the decor was modern and stylish.

 

Mr and Mrs Holmes were standing by the fireplace and when she saw Greg, Mrs Holmes rushed over to him, closely followed by her husband.

 

“Gregory!” she exclaimed as he took her hand and kissed it. “It's so lovely to see you again. And in such happy circumstances as well! Mikey tells us you two are courting.”

 

Greg shook hands with Mr Holmes as he replied.

 

“It's very nice to see you both again, Mrs Holmes.”

 

“You must call me Violet,” she insisted. “Is it true?”

 

Greg blushed a bit.

 

“Yes. We've been seeing each other for a while now.”

 

“How lovely! I always despaired of Mikey finding anyone special. He's far too picky.”

 

Mrs Holmes's face was alight with happiness and approval while her husband looked on benignly. Mycroft, on the other hand, looked like he was about to die of embarrassment.

 

Greg was saved from replying by the arrival of an enormous tea trolley pushed by a house elf.

 

“Tea, mistress.” said the elf, bowing. 

 

“Thank you, Lacy. Has Mr Lestrade's room been made up?”

 

“Yes, mistress. His stuff is up there now.”

 

“Excellent. Gregory, please sit and have some tea with us. Mikey can show you around later.”

 

The family sat and chatted, Mycroft's parents reminiscing about their time at Hogwarts. Greg was surprised to learn Mrs Holmes had been a Ravenclaw but not at all that she had been Head Girl. Mr Holmes smiled indulgently at her as he confessed to being a bit of a duffer at school, his only saving grace as he saw it was being the Slytherin Seeker for four years. 

 

That led them to talking about Quidditch while Mycroft and his mother listened politely but Greg reckoned he had an ally in Siger Holmes.

 

Finally, after promising to join them for dinner, Mycroft took Greg on a tour of the house. Greg was impressed as anything with the library and the games room but was even happier when Mycroft led him upstairs.

 

“This is your room,” said Mycroft. It was beautifully appointed with a four-poster with deep blue hangings in the middle of the room. Minnie was already there on a custom-made perch and his stuff had been unpacked and out away.

 

“It's very nice. Where's yours?”

 

“Right next door. My parents aren't stupid, Gregory. They know we'll be having sex while you're here. Just as long as we're not blatant about it.,

 

“Gotcha. So, your place or mine tonight?” Greg asked, drawing Mycroft to him for a kiss.

 

“Yours. My bed springs creak terribly even when I turn over. Imagine what a racket they'd make if you and I were in there?”

 

“I'm imagining the things I could be doing to you in there.” Greg murmured.

 

“It's all I've been imagining since I got here,” moaned Mycroft.

 

“Lock the door,” said Greg hoarsely. “Let me see if you taste as sweet as I remember.”

 

Mycroft hurried to comply.

 

*

 

Greg had expected dinner to be a very formal affair but Mycroft had reassured him after they had made love.Gloriously naked, he had propped himself up on one elbow and said.

 

“My parents might be old wizarding stock, my heart, but they’re not stuffy and pompous. Unlike some I could mention. There will just be the four of us. Wear your dress robes if you want but I assure you, it’s unnecessary.”

 

“Okay, but I will make a bit of an effort. Wouldn’t want your folks to think you’d taken up with a tramp. Mikey.”

 

He yelped as Mycroft grabbed a delicate piece of his anatomy.

 

“Only my mother gets away with calling me that.” said Mycroft.

 

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry!” whimpered Greg. “But if you’re up for a repeat performance tonight, love, you might want to loosen your grip. Just a bit.”

 

Mycroft laughed and released him and was promptly swatted with a pillow.

 

“I’m going for a bath, “ said Mycroft with a smile. “I’ll see you at dinner, my heart. Just listen for the gong.”

 

Greg took a few seconds to admire his lover’s pert arse as he drew on his trousers and shirt and left the room before getting up himself and hopping to the closet to see what he could find to wear.

 

Dinner was proceeding nicely. The food and wine were delicious and Greg was thoroughly enjoying himself.

 

“Fancy a flight around the estate tomorrow, Gregory?” asked Mr Holmes.

 

“Yes, it’s ages since I’ve been on a broomstick properly,” replied Greg, winking at Mycroft.

 

“Excellent.I’m sure…”

 

Siger Holmes was interrupted by a streak of silver appearing in their midst. It formed a silver lynx who spoke with the voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

 

“Sorry to intrude, Mr and Mrs Holmes but may I have permission to come inside?”

 

Violet sent the house elf to the gate to admit the Minister for Magic. All four of them looked worried.

 

“What on earth can he want?” asked Siger.

 

The door to the dining room opened and a tall black man in wizard’s robes entered.

 

“My apologies for disturbing your dinner,” he said in his deep, reassuring voice.

 

“Not at all, Minister. Have you eaten? Sit, I’ll get you some wine.” said Violet.

 

“Thank you, but I can’t stay.” he looked at Greg. “It’s actually you I’ve come to see, Gregory.”

 

“What’s wrong? It’s not my parents, is it?” Greg asked, panicking.

 

“No, as far as I know, they are safe. I want you to come to the Ministry tomorrow. Dolohov is becoming a real menace. We need your expertise.”

 

“Of course. I’ll be there first thing, Minister.” said Greg. “One thing, what was the first thing you said to me when I started Auror training?”

 

Kingsley laughed but there was a look of respect in his eyes.

 

“This is where you never stop learning.” he said. Greg felt relieved.

 

“Sorry about that. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

 

“Yes. May I have permission to use your fireplace?” asked Kingsley. Violet nodded.

 

He threw in a pinch of Floo Powder, stepped into the flames and vanished.

 

The three Holmes's looked at Greg who looked worried.

 

“This is going to get nasty,” he said, with some authority. “He’s got something big planned, I know it.”

 

“Gregory…” Mycroft’s voice tailed off when he saw the look of bitter determination on Greg’s face.

 

“It’s me he wants, “ Greg went on. “Let’s see if we can stop that happening.”

 

TBC

  
  
  
  
  



	10. April

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Greg and the Aurors discuss the apprehension of Dolohov and Greg gets more surprises than he can handle.

APRIL

  
  
  


Mycroft slept in Greg's arms that night and when they made love he held on tight with every part of him, not quite ready to let go.

 

Breakfast was a solemn affair and Greg found he didn't fancy his bacon and eggs as much as he thought.

 

“I don't know how long this will take,” Greg explained to the Holmes family. “If I need to be away longer than a day, I'll send an owl.”

 

“Good luck, Gregory.” said Mrs Holmes. “I hope they find him and put him down like the rabid animal he is.”

 

Greg wasn't surprised by her vehemence. Dolohov had brutalised her younger son and  she wanted payback for it.

 

“I'll do my best to help,” said Greg.

 

“Good man,” said Mr Holmes.

 

“I can use the Floo Network to get there,” said Greg after Mycroft's parents had left them to say their farewells privately.

 

“Best if you do,” agreed Mycroft. “You can't Apparate or Disapparate in Musgrave.”

 

Greg took Mycroft into his arms and kissed him very gently.

 

“I won't be gone long,” he whispered, stroking Mycroft's back in soothing circles. “All they want to do is talk.”

 

“For now,” said Mycroft, unconvinced. He had seen the delight and anticipation in Greg's eyes after the Minister had spoken to him and knew Greg would rejoin his old team without a second thought.

 

“I'll be back as soon as I can. I love you.”

 

Mycroft was stunned.

 

“Did you just say…?”

 

Greg smiled and kissed him again.

 

“Yeah. I love you, Mycroft Holmes. Have done for ages though you'll forgive me for not realising it sooner because I've never been in love before but you make me so incredibly happy. A lifetime with you by my side wouldn't be long enough.”

 

There was such a tender expression in his dark eyes that Mycroft felt a lump in his throat.

 

“And I love you, Gregory. So very much and have done for the longest time. Please be careful, my heart.”

 

“I will. I promise. I'll be in touch.”

 

Greg kissed Mycroft again then took a pinch of Floo powder from the jar on the mantelpiece and threw it into the fire. As the flames roared and turned green, Greg stepped into them.

 

“Ministry of Magic.” he said with the utmost clarity and folded his arms as he was whisked away.

 

He was spat out in the atrium of the Ministry. As he shook dust and ash from his robes, the security guard approached him.

 

“Greg Lestrade! Long time no see. What're you doing here?”

 

“Hi, Andy. Got an appointment with the Minister.”

 

“Come over to the desk then,” said Andy. “Got to book you in as a visitor.”

 

Greg followed him and allowed his wand to be weighed and Andy to pin a visitor's pass to the front of his robes.

 

“There you go, mate. You know the way. Good to see you again.”

 

They shook hands and Greg limped over to where the lifts were.

 

He stepped into a lift with a dozen other witches and wizards, none of whom he knew, and leaned against the wall as the lift made its way upwards. People got on and off, interdepartmental memos whizzed in and out at every stop until they finally reached where Greg wanted to be.

 

_ Level Two  _ announced a cool female voice  _ Department of Magical Law Enforcement including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters and Wizengamot Administration Services. _

 

“Excuse me “ said Greg as he extracted himself from the lift and made his way through the familiar set of oak doors.

 

Nothing and everything had changed. The sign still hung crookedly, various witches and wizards were in their cubicles chatting, writing reports and drinking coffee.

 

Greg felt a physical pang when he saw his cubicle was occupied by someone else but there was a loud shriek of recognition and a redhaired witch ran over and threw her arms around him.

 

“Greg! You old bastard, where have you been?”

 

“Hi, Hazel,” he said, hugging her back.

 

The others crowded round him, exchanging handshakes, back slaps and insults with him in equal measure. These were the people he had fought and bled with, the people who had flocked to St Mungo's in the aftermath and who he had pushed away, scorned, ashamed of what he had become, how he had failed.

 

“Rumour has it you're at Hogwarts,” said one wizard with long hair tied in a ponytail.

 

“Yeah, I am, Dave. Defence.”

 

“Really? Nice one.”

 

“You're looking a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you,” said an older witch, eyeing him critically.

 

“I'm doing well, Joan,” he replied with a smile. “I thought Kingsley was going to be here?”

 

“He's running late,” said Dave, checking his watch. “That's bureaucracy for you. Grab a coffee and you can wait with us.”

 

Greg did ,and he and his former workmates talked about the glory days, those they had lost and who had come up to replace them.

 

That was where Kingsley Shacklebolt found him, tears of laughter running down his face at the utterly filthy joke Joan had just told him, his face alight with pleasure.

 

“A word, Gregory, before we start?”

 

Greg struggled to his feet and followed Kingsley into the Head Auror’s office. 

 

“Harry is on paternity leave,” Kingsley explained. “A daughter this time.”

 

Greg felt vaguely disappointed. He'd have liked to have met Harry Potter.

 

Covering one wall were pictures of a wizard with a twisted face and close-set eyes. He scowled at Greg when he saw him looking and drew his finger across his throat.

 

There was also a map in the wall peppered with pins. Greg knew what the red pins stood for and felt sick.

 

“What's the latest on Dolohov?” Greg asked.

 

“Yes, I should bring you up to speed before we talk tactics with the rest of the team. After his escape, we tracked him to Moscow. I assume he was trying to renew old contacts there but he was gone before we could act. His family mansion is a ruin and all his relatives are dead so there was no point in hanging around. Either he recruited there or he didn't. Then he went to France. We lost a very fine Auror there pursuing him. Then there were the attacks in England. All along the south coast. It's been a nightmare, nearly as bad as having Voldemort back. Since then, nothing. He's gone to ground.”

 

Greg was all attention now, his old instincts coming to the fore and Kingsley smiled to himself.

 

“You miss it, don't you?” he asked.

 

“I'd be lying if I said I didn't,” admitted Greg.

 

“That's what I thought. Let's rejoin the others and get talking.”

 

*

 

“He wants me.” said Greg flatly. “I was the one who killed his abomination and got him a one-way ticket to Azkaban. Maybe you can use me as bait to draw him out?”

 

“No chance,” said Joan flatly. The others nodded in agreement.

 

“If you don't, more innocent people, magic and Muggle alike will suffer. Maybe even die.”

 

“And if he kills you, then what?” Dave asked sharply. “Do you think he's going to hand in his wand and go meekly back to Azkaban? He will try and pick up where Voldemort left off, mate. Killing you would just be a bonus.”

 

“I tend to agree.” Kingsley murmured. 

 

“How did he escape anyway?” Greg asked. “I thought the problem with the Dementors had been fixed.”

 

“It was “ said Kingsley. “We all thought it was secure but as we know to our cost, Dolohov has an uncanny affinity with Dark creatures. He managed to manipulate them just long enough to escape. He didn't lose his powers or his mind in there either, which is almost unprecedented.”

 

The Minister for Magic gave a heavy sigh.

 

“That's why I have authorised the use of extreme force in Dolohov’s case. Azkaban will no longer hold him so…”

 

“So he has to be put down.” said Hazel. “Just in case any of you were unclear about that.”

 

“Right.” said Greg. “Can we recap on what we  _ do  _ know?”

 

Everyone started talking at once.

 

*

 

As the day wore on, turning into night, Kingsley drew a weary hand over his face.

 

“That's enough for tonight. Go home and we'll reconvene at nine tomorrow. Gregory, there's a room for you at the Leaky Cauldron. Mrs Longbottom is expecting you.”

 

“Okay, thanks. There's got to be a fireplace around here I can borrow.”

 

“Where were you planning on going?” asked Kingsley. “I'd prefer it if you stayed nearby. Also what we have just discussed is a matter of the utmost secrecy.”

 

Greg gave him a dirty look.

 

“I'll have to let Mr and Mrs Holmes that I won't be back tonight. It's called good manners. Then I'll go to the Leaky Cauldron and I'll be back at nine sharp.”

 

“Use the fire in Harry's office,” said Kingsley. “I'll see you tomorrow.”

 

Once the fire was blazing, Greg got onto his knees with some difficulty and threw in a pinch of Floo powder.

 

“Musgrave Hall.”

 

When his vision cleared he realised he was looking at the library where Mr and Mrs Holmes were sitting drinking what looked like whisky. Greg cleared his throat to get their attention.

 

“Oh my goodness!” Mrs Holmes exclaimed. “Gregory, dear. Are you all right?”

 

The Holmes parents drew close to the fireplace.

 

“I'm fine,” he reassured them. “I'm just letting you know I won't be back tonight. Is Mycroft there?”

 

“He's in the bath,” said Mr Holmes. “I'll go and give him a shout.” He disappeared from Greg's view.

 

“Where are you staying?”

 

“Leaky Cauldron. With any luck I'll be back tomorrow. I'm sorry if I've inconvenienced you.”

 

“Don't be ridiculous, Gregory. Ah, here's Mycroft now.”

 

Greg had already heard feet thundering on the stairs and Mycroft appeared wearing a thin silk dressing gown and not much else, his wet hair a riot of autumnal curls.

 

“Gregory! When are you coming back?”

 

“Probably tomorrow. I'm sorry, love.”

 

“Don't be,” said Mycroft with a fond smile. “This is important. I will see you tomorrow.” Mycroft got as close to the flames as he could without getting scorched and whispered “I love you, my heart.”

 

Greg felt the heat increase around his head so he blew Mycroft a kiss and pulled back.

 

Once the world had stopped revolving, Greg left the Ministry and headed for the Leaky Cauldron.

 

*

 

Neville and Hannah were behind the bar. When Neville saw Greg's face he poured him a huge glass of firewhiskey which Greg downed in three swallows.

 

“Thanks, mate.” said Greg.

 

“That bad?” Neville asked sympathetically.

 

“You have no idea.  Hi, Hannah. You're blooming.”

 

Hannah smiled, her pregnancy was very obvious now.

 

“I've made up room eleven for you, Greg.” She handed him the key. “If you need it for any longer, just say.”

 

“Thanks. I think I'll go to bed now. It's been one of those days.”

 

He made it upstairs and unlocked the door to his room. Once inside he stripped to his underwear and crawled under the quilt but his mind was too busy for him to succumb to sleep. He could not get comfortable, despite the exquisite bed and lay there sweaty and miserable.

 

There was a knock at the door. Greg was instantly on high alert, he sat on the edge of the bed, wand at the ready and a useful number of hexes on the tip of his tongue.

 

“Who's there?” he barked.

 

“Gregory, it's me. Let me in.”

 

It sounded like Mycroft but Greg knew evil didn't really have any limits. 

 

“Where did we first meet and what were you doing?” asked Greg.

 

He heard an exasperated Mycroft sigh which was almost enough to convince him.

 

“We first met at Hogwarts. You were with the Headmistress and I nearly walked into you both because I was reading my notes for my first class.”

 

“Come in then,” said Greg with a smile. Mycroft entered the room and Greg felt immeasurably better.

 

“What are you doing here?” Greg asked. “Not that I'm not delighted to see you.”

 

Mycroft wrapped his arms around his lover and rested his head on his shoulder.

 

“Mother insisted. I didn't want to intrude but then she called me an idiot boy and started yelling at me, so I left.”

 

Greg couldn't help but laugh.

 

Mycroft ran his fingers over Greg's bare chest, teasing his nipples with the tips of his fingers which made Greg sigh in appreciation.

 

“You've got far too many clothes on,” he growled.

 

“True. Why don't you fix that?” Mycroft asked, the pupils of his eyes dilating as he spoke.

 

Greg undressed him slowly, covering each exposed inch with kisses until they were both naked and Greg was between Mycroft's thighs, trailing his lips over Mycroft's erection. He felt Mycroft's hands in his hair and his sweet voice begging for Greg not to stop, not to ever stop…

 

Much later, sweaty and sated, they fell asleep tangled up in each other, contented smiles on both their faces.

 

Greg couldn't be bothered to move the next morning, he had everything he needed right there in that room with Mycroft in his arms and the promise of a beautiful spring day ahead.

 

That notion was knocked out of him by the screeching of the alarm clock.

 

“Get up you lazy sod!” it howled.

 

Greg was thoroughly distracted by Mycroft giggling against his chest.

 

“Better get a move on.” Greg said, reluctance in every syllable.

 

Mycroft sat up and stretched and Greg took a second to appreciate such a beautiful sight.

 

They made it downstairs in time for breakfast and chatted with Neville and Hannah.

 

“Hannah's coming back to Hogwarts with me next week.” Neville announced. “I'm not.leaving her here when she's so far on. Especially with Dolohov still on the loose.”

 

“Very sensible,” agreed Mycroft, putting his cup in his saucer and helping himself to more toast. 

 

“Don't worry, added Greg as he.mopped up the last of his fried egg. “We'll catch that fucker shortly.”

 

_ Unnoticed by the rest of the guests, a tall, thin wizard slipped out of the Leaky Cauldron and into Borgin and Burkes in Knockturn Alley. In one of the back rooms he told his tale and left with a bagful of Galleons. Had he had any compassion, he would have spared a thought for the grief and misery his information was about to release but he did not. He slunk out of the Alley and vanished. _

 

_ * _

 

Mycroft walked almost to the.Ministry with Greg. 

 

“I should be done by tonight, “ Greg promised. “Then I'll come back to Musgrave.”

 

“We'll be waiting for you,” smiled Mycroft, pecking him on the cheek before turning on the spot to Disapparate.

 

Feeling very chipper indeed, Greg plunged into the Ministry building.

 

They were discussing the possibility that Dolohov might be in the Cotswolds when there was a commotion outside.

 

“Look, you  _ can't  _ go in there without an appointment!” That was Andy, the security wizard.

 

The doors flew open and a face Greg recognised from his nightmares, his tall, thin frame dressed in the lime green robes of St Mungo's, made a beeline for him.

 

“Hello, Sherlock.” said Greg.

 

“Mycroft's not here, is he?” Sherlock asked tersely.

 

A feeling of utter dread seized Greg's heart as he said.

 

“No, of course he's not here. He's at Musgrave. Well, that's where he was heading this morning.”

 

Sherlock's look of utter devastation tightened the grip on Greg's already pounding heart.

 

Sherlock collapsed into a chair and covered his face with a trembling hand.

 

“Then he's been taken” he croaked.

 

“What?”

 

Sherlock lowered his hand and the look of betrayal in his eyes, Mycroft's eyes, bored straight into Greg.

 

“He never made it home, Gregory. Dolohov has him.”

 

TBC

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you all come after me with pitchforks and torches, I will be posting the new chapter in a couple of days. Have faith.


	11. May

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hunt is on...Trigger Warning for description of magical torture.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for not posting this sooner. I know I left you all on a bit of a cliffhanger.

MAY

 

“What do you mean, he never made it home? “

 

“Exactly what I said,” replied Sherlock, giving Greg a don't-be-so-fucking-stupid look. “My parents expected him back this morning. When he didn't arrive my mother contacted the Leaky Cauldron and they said he left with you.”

 

“He did. He Apparated straight home.”

 

“Then they were waiting for him.” Sherlock sighed.

 

The other Aurors clustered round them looking concerned.

 

“Did he go back to Hogwarts?” asked one. Sherlock shook his head decisively.

 

“The Headmistress confirmed he hasn't returned. And there's nowhere else he could be.”

 

Greg had to sit down. The thought of Dolohov's hands anywhere near his Mycroft was enough to make him vomit. He wanted to cry, to despair, but that wasn't what Mycroft needed right now. He needed the clear-thinking Auror whose mission was to take down those who practiced the Dark Arts. Then he felt a tiny upsurge of hope.

 

“Mycroft’s an Animagus,” he said. “Even if he doesn't have his wand he can still transform.”

 

“Not if he's under the Imperius Curse,” said Kingsley. “And there's little doubt that he will be.”

 

“Fuck!”

 

“Quite.”

 

“Who knew?” demanded Sherlock. 

 

“Who knew what?”

 

“Who knew you were fucking my brother?”

 

“I'm not just ‘fucking' your brother, Sherlock. We're in a genuine relationship. I happen to love Mycroft very much.”

 

“Semantics.” Sherlock replied with an impatient toss of his head. “The question remains valid. Who knew?”

 

“He's right, Greg.” said Hazel. “You've always been incredibly discreet about your private life so I can't imagine it's a lot of.people.”

 

Greg rubbed his face with his hands.

 

“Let me think. My parents. Your parents…”

 

“Well, we can discount them,” said Sherlock.

 

“Neville and Hannah. Professor McGonagall. Madam Rosmerta.” Greg stopped ticking them off on his fingers. “John Watson. I can't imagine any of them being hand in glove with Dolohov.”

 

“No, me neither. My brother stayed with you last night. Did you have breakfast together?”

 

“Yeah, in the bar of the Leaky Cauldron.”

 

“A stone's throw from Knockturn Alley.”

 

Greg's brow furrowed.

 

“Someone saw us there?”

 

“Almost certainly. Think, Greg. Who was in the bar this morning?”

 

“I can't remember,” said Greg, a heavy catch in his voice. This was all his fault. Mycroft was probably going through hell just because he had fallen in love with a marked man.

 

“You're useless!” Sherlock exploded. “Merlin only knows what my brother has suffered already and you…”

 

“That's quite enough, Mr Holmes.” Kingsley Shacklebolt didn't raise his voice but his tone was enough to stop Sherlock in his tracks. “Please remember that you are here on sufferance and that abusing the man who saved your life is going to accomplish nothing.”

 

Sherlock retreated into a huffy sulk.

 

“I've got an idea,” Joan piped up. “Greg, were Neville and Hannah there this morning?”

 

“Yeah. We spoke to them for ages. Why?”

 

“I wonder if they'd remember. Or be persuaded to.”

 

Greg perked up at the suggestion.

 

“Brilliant! I'll get over there now and ask.”

 

“I'll come with you,” said Dave. “I'm the best Legilimens of all of us and you might need me. Plus there's no need to drag them in here like they've done something wrong.”

 

“Good plan,” said Kingsley approvingly. “The rest of you, talk to your snitches and find out what the word is on the street. Anything might be useful. As for you, Mr Holmes, you may wait here.”

 

“Thank you, Minister, but I will go to Musgrave and wait with my parents. They are devastated.”

 

“As soon as we know anything, we will inform you,” promised Kingsley.

 

*

 

Once Greg had explained what had happened to Neville and Hannah, they were more than happy to help.

 

“I'm so sorry, Greg.” said Hannah, putting a timid hand on his rigid arm. “You must be worried sick.”

 

“All I want to do is find him,” said Greg. “Nothing else matters.”

 

“We've told you what we remember,” said Neville. “Time to go deeper I think.”

 

“Yeah. I'll do Hannah first, then you. I promise I won't rummage around too much, and it won't hurt the baby. Just concentrate on breakfast time this morning.” said Dave.

 

Hannah stood up straight, looked Dave straight in the eye and nodded.

 

He pointed his wand at her and muttered “ _ Legilimens!” _

 

It only took a minute but Dave was paper white when he finished.

 

“Well?” Greg demanded.

 

“I might have something.” Dave muttered. “Best double check though. Neville, do you mind?”

 

“Not at all.”

 

Dave performed the spell again and, if anything, looked paler than before.

 

“Right. I know who it is. Better get back to HQ and tell the rest.”

 

Greg hugged both Neville and Hannah.

 

“I hope you find him, mate.” Neville mumbled. “I know how much he means to you.”

 

Overcome, Greg could only nod.

 

*

 

“Weasel Watkins.”

 

Dave's announcement caused a lot of head-shaking and muttered swearing among the Aurors.

 

“Who?” Greg asked.

 

“Walter Watkins. Better known as Weasel. A lowlife who would sell his own granny for a bottle of firewhiskey.”

 

“I don't even know him. Why would he see me out to Dolohov?”

 

“Money, Greg. “ said Joan.”The latest word is that someone is willing to pay big for any information about you and your whereabouts. We can only assume he took them up on it.”

 

“Shit.”

 

“We’ll bring him in and question him, “ said Dave. He fingered his wand lovingly and Greg got the impression that this Weasel Watkins wasn’t going to have an easy time of it.

 

“Do we even know where he is?” asked Greg.

 

“That won’t be a problem. Buster and Bruiser will find him and bring him here.” said Kingsley reassuringly.

 

There was a loud  _ crack  _ and two identical house elves appeared in their midst, though they were dressed unlike any elves Greg had ever seen, in leather jackets and trousers. They did not bow, just stared challengingly at the assembled wizards.

 

“You called, Minister?” asked one.

 

“Yes. I have a job for you. I need you to find this wizard and bring him here. Only hurt him if you have to.”

 

Kingsley produced a mugshot of the man they were to find. They looked at it and nodded. 

 

“Usual rates, Minister?”

 

“Of course. It is, I regret, rather time-sensitive.”

 

“No problem,” said the other elf, cracking his knuckles. With another loud  _ crack  _ they vanished.

 

“Bounty hunters,” explained Hazel. “They’re superb.”

 

Greg shook his head in astonishment, then looked at the picture Kingsley was still holding.

 

“I don’t recognise him. Not even from my time here. “

 

“Don’t fret, those two are incredibly quick. There isn’t anywhere Weasel can hide that they can’t find him. Do you want to wait here or…”

 

“Too fucking right I do. If that bastard sold my Mycroft to Dolohov then I want to look him in the eye when he admits it.”

 

“I’d better go and prepare the special dungeon, “ said Hazel. “Excuse me.”

 

Then all they could do was wait.Greg sat twiddling his thumbs while the others caught up on their paperwork and filing, or made more coffee, every one of them wearing a strained, expectant look.

  
  


It was around four in the morning when there was another loud  _ crack  _ startling awake those who were dozing and bringing the Minister in at a run.

 

Struggling in the grip of the two house elves was the man from the photograph. Skinny and tall, he stunk to high heaven and screamed all sorts of curses and promises of retribution until Dave cast a charm on him that shut him up but did nothing to calm his murderous glare.

 

“Take him downstairs,” said Kingsley in a voice of dead calm. Dave and Hazel frogmarched the prisoner out of the office while the Minister paid the elves with a large purse of Galleons.

 

“You can come and watch, “ offered Kingsley and Greg didn’t hesitate.

 

Down in the deepest part of the Ministry was a stone chamber which contained one chair. Weasel was chained to it and finally had the sense to look frightened, though Greg couldn’t help but notice how the gaze of his shifty eyes roamed all over the room looking for an exit.

 

“You may begin the interrogation, “ said Kingsley to Dave and Hazel. “And you have my full permission to use whatever methods you need to get the truth.”

 

Dave walked over to Weasel and grabbed him by the hair. As he opened his mouth to scream with pain, Hazel emptied a small bottle of colourless liquid into his mouth, forcing him to swallow. Within seconds, his expression had turned dreamy. He even smiled as Dave removed the Silencing Charm.

 

“Tell us your name.” said Dave.

 

“Walter Watkins. My friends call me Weasel. Well, they would if I had any friends.”

 

“Why did you give information to Dolohov?”

 

“I heard there was a load of Galleons to be made for information about him.” He pointed to Greg. “When I saw him and his boyfriend it was too good an opportunity to miss.”

 

“Where did you go to deliver your information?” That was Hazel.

 

“Borgin and Burkes.”

 

Greg shook his head.

 

“He’s lying. If Dolohov came within a mile of Knockturn Alley, we’d know.”

 

“I’m inclined to agree. However this is the finest Veritaserum ever brewed. He believes he’s telling the truth.”

 

“A Memory Charm?”

 

“Yes. Dave, I think we might need harsher measures.”

 

“On it,” said Dave, grimly. He pressed the tip of his wand to Weasel’s temple and muttered an incantation. Weasel’s eyes grew wide and he screamed in pain.

 

“Almost got it,” grunted Dave, then Weasel sagged in his chair, only the enchanted chains held him up.

 

Dave was visibly sweating.

 

“That was one hell of a Memory Charm.”

 

“Here,” said Hazel, stiff with determination. “Let me read him this time. _ Legilimens.” _

 

Weasel turned chalk white as Hazel maintained the connection, her mouth pruning with disgust. Then she hissed with pleasure and broke the spell.

 

“Well?” demanded Greg. “What did you see?” 

 

“He was partially telling the truth. He  _ did  _ go to Borgin and Burkes where he was told where to Apparate to. Once his information was confirmed, he had a Memory Charm put on him and he was taken by Side-Along Apparition back to the shop where he got paid. He spoke to Dolohov and I know where he was. Whether he's still there or not is debatable.”

 

“At least it's something to go on,” said Greg. “Where?”

 

She told him.

 

“We need to get there. Now. Even if Mycroft  _ is _ under the Imperius Curse he won't be able to fight it. Not there. Let's go.”

 

*

 

Greg quivered with impatience as the prisoner was locked away prior to being transferred to Azkaban and the others gathered their wands and cloaks.

 

“Expect a trap,” warned Kingsley. “And he's probably had time to create another abomination as well. Be careful, all of you.”

 

He turned to Greg and frowned.

 

“You really shouldn't be going, you're not officially part of law enforcement any more, Gregory.”

 

“I'm going. “said Greg flatly. “Whether it's sanctioned by you or not. I know the risks and I'm fine with it.”

 

The Kingsley saw an expression on Greg’s face he never expected to see. Love.  _ Real  _ love.

 

“Besides, it's me he wants and if giving myself over to Dolohov frees Mycroft I'll do it.”

 

Greg smiled at Kingsley’s raised eyebrow.

 

“My life for his, if I have to.”

 

“Then I restore you temporarily to your former rank with all the authority and privileges therein. Remember, Gregory. He can't go back to Azkaban.”

 

Greg gave him a bitter smile and a nod and readied himself to depart.

 

*

 

Dawn was just breaking over Gunwharf Quays when the four Aurors popped into view. Greg had always loved the Spinnaker Tower but now it had an aura of evil about it and as they cautiously approached it, the air felt heavy with menace.

 

“Shit,” mumbled Dave. “Can you all feel that? How do the Muggles stand it?”

 

“I dunno,” replied Greg with a shrug. 

 

They crept closer then the air turned colder and the light began to leach out of the morning.

 

“Fucking Dementors,” snarled Hazel. “Look out!”

 

A horde of black-robed horrors descended on them and in the split-second he had, Greg concentrated on the memory of the first time Mycroft had told him he loved him, raised his wand high and bellowed.

 

“ _ Expecto Patronum!” _

 

The huge silver fox burst from the end of his wand and joined the silver wolf, lion, and elephant of the others in chasing the Dementors away. It worked for a short while, long enough for them to get close to the ticket office but then they regrouped and attacked again.

 

“Dave and I have got this!” yelled Joan to Greg and Hazel. “Get inside!”

 

To their amazement and suspicion, the doors were both unlocked and unguarded. With a nod, they proceeded to the lifts, Greg in front with Hazel covering his back.

 

The lift was also empty and working which was even more suspicious but enclosed in a tiny glass capsule they could let their guard down slightly. Greg pressed the button for the highest viewing platform.

 

“You sure?” Hazel asked.

 

“Yes. It makes sense. Mycroft is incredibly talented but he's got one real weakness.” Greg explained. “He's terrified of heights. Put him up all the way up there surrounded by glass and Mycroft will be out of his mind with terror.”

 

“Nasty.” agreed Hazel.

 

“Careful,” said Greg. “We’re here.”

  
  


They raised their wands to a combat position as the doors slid open and a blast of green light shot into the lift, missing them by millimetres.

 

“Crap. You go right,” Greg muttered to Hazel. She acknowledged him with a tilt of her head and they were off, charging into the landing space, curses and hexes raining around them and from them, turning the air into a filthy rainbow.

 

Greg counted six, two of which he felled with a full Body Bind then ducked the Killing Curse sent his way. Hazel floored another two;she was utterly lethal in combat and Greg admired her skills as another dropped to the floor and didn't stir.

 

Then their luck changed. Hazel screamed as two jets of red light hit her just under the heart and she crumpled to the floor, unmoving.

 

Greg roared with anger. The Killing Curse was cast before he realised what he was doing and struck with his inhuman accuracy.

 

“Enough,” said a voice, guttural and deep. Greg looked up to see Dolohov with his wand at Mycroft's throat.

 

His beloved was magically pinned in a cruciform pose, his robes torn and splattered with blood and vomit and dark bruises had blossomed all over the skin that Greg could see. In the corner lay Mycroft's wand snapped in half, the dragon heartstring poking out of the rosewood halves. Mycroft's expression was glazed, no spark of recognition in his eyes, just two blue blanks.

 

“Throw down your wand, Auror Lestrade, or he dies.” said Dolohov.

 

“And if I throw away my wand, you'll kill us both anyway. Let him go, Dolohov. Take me instead. That's what you want, isn't it?”

 

“Initially, yes. Then I discovered you had a weak spot. I wanted to kill you more than anything but then this juicy morsel fell into my lap. How much more fun will it be watching you suffer after I kill him? “

 

Greg's wand arm rose, but not quickly enough.

 

“ _ Diffindo,” _

 

Greg collapsed as his prosthesis shattered underneath him and his wand flew out of his hand.

 

Infuriated, Dolohov advanced on Greg where he wallowed on the floor.

 

“ _ Crucio.” _

 

Pain unlike any he had ever experienced ripped through him. It felt as though his nerves were on fire and every single bone in his body was breaking simultaneously and he screamed loudly enough to shatter glass.

 

“A mere taste,” said Dolohov, smirking.

 

Greg actually wanted to die if it meant he wouldn't experience the Cruciatus Curse again.

 

Dolohov raised his wand again and through the red mist of screaming agony, Greg saw Mycroft stir and struggle against the bonds that were holding him. Hit with another blast, Greg felt his bladder loosen and he howled like a dog that had been run over. He couldn't stand much more of this;his sanity was beginning to fray at the edges but it was vital he keep Dolohov's attention away from Mycroft.

 

“Kill me,” Greg pleaded. “Please. My life for his.”

 

“Sentiment.” sneered Dolohov.

 

“No. I can't and I won't defend myself. I will die for him without a second’s hesitation.” As he said it, Greg realised he spoke the truth. Then, bizarrely Greg smiled.

 

“I will kill you both one at a time and make the other watch. I will…”

 

Whatever else Dolohov had planned would remain unspoken as he heard a soft growl from behind him and the weight of a fully-grown Bengal tiger pushed him to the floor.

 

Dolohov didn't even have time to scream before Mycroft tore his throat out with one swipe of his paw, splattering his coat with gore.

 

He transformed back into himself and rushed to Greg's side.

 

“You came for me,” he whispered. He clutched at Greg with bloody hands. “My heart…”

 

“Fucking hell, what a mess!”

 

Dave's voice rang out in the silent viewing platform as Joan rushed to Hazel’s side.

 

“Two Stunners to the chest, I think, Joan.” shouted Greg.

 

Dave walked over to Greg and Mycroft.

 

“The Cavalry are on their way, mate.” He kicked Dolohov's mangled corpse in passing. “Nice job, Mr Holmes.”

 

Mycroft was as pale as snow but he held onto Greg as tightly as he could.

 

“He was going to kill Gregory. I had no choice.”

 

“It's all right. He was under sentence of death anyway. Hey, Greg. You look terrible.”

 

“Fuck you, Dave.” Greg would have laughed but he was amazed he still had the energy to breathe.

 

There was a clattering noise and the area was suddenly full of people and Greg was finding it hard to stay focused.

 

A blurry figure loomed over him and Mycroft and said in an authoritative tone.

 

“Get these men to St Mungo's immediately.”

 

Greg closed his eyes with a thankful sigh.

 

TBC


	12. June

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of Dolohov's demise, Greg is made an offer he surely can't refuse.

JUNE

Greg's return to consciousness wasn't without it's own pain as he groaned and attempted to sit up.

“Lie still,” warned a familiar voice. Greg opened his eyes to see John Watson at his bedside.

“So what's the verdict?” croaked Greg. He felt as if his throat had been coated with tiny shards of glass.

“You'll live.” smiled John. “Minor concussion, some broken ribs which I've already healed and, yeah, you managed to sprain both knees which is quite an achievement for a bloke with one and three-quarter legs. You'll be in a wheelchair again, I'm afraid, until you can support your own weight.”

Greg nodded, expecting as much. He would heal eventually. Then he asked the question that had been burning in him since he opened his eyes.

“What about Mycroft?”

Was it his imagination or did John look uncomfortable?

“He...he wasn't as lucky as you. Dolohov really put him through it. There was spell damage as well as what was done to him physically. He will get better,” John continued, correctly interpreting the anguished look on Greg's face. “But it might take a while.”

“I need to see him.” Greg tried to sit up and was appalled at how easily John was able to push him back down.

“ _ You _ are going nowhere at the moment.” John said sternly. “You're far too weak and you need to rest. Maybe tomorrow if you promise to eat whatever's put in front of you, take your potion and sleep.”

Judging by the poorly-concealed amusement in John's eyes, sulking and pouting was going to get Greg absolutely nowhere.

“Okay, I promise.” Greg muttered. “And how about Hazel?”

“She’s going to be fine. I’ll be discharging her myself tomorrow. You Aurors are a hardy breed. Seriously, Greg. She’s going to be okay.”

One of the trainee Healers came into the room after knocking politely. She clutched a goblet that was smoking faintly in her hands.

“The Strengthening Potion for Mr Lestrade, Healer Watson. And there's some people outside that want to see him. I asked them to.leave but they insisted.”

“I'll sort it,” said John, with a wink at Greg. “Drink this. All of it.”

The trainee blushed as Greg took the goblet from her hands and took a sip.

“That's fucking horrible!” he spluttered.”Tastes like newt piss mixed with dragon dung.”

“Charming,” sighed John. 

“Sorry, love.” apologised Greg to the trainee. “But it is utterly foul.”

“You promised.” John reminded him.

With a martyred sigh Greg drained the goblet, trying very hard not to vomit it straight back up. To his amazement he felt warmth creeping back into his limbs and the pain receding to a faint echo.

“Right. I'll go and sort out your ‘visitors' then I'll pop upstairs and check on Mycroft.”

He gave Greg a very hard look.

“Don't even think about trying to get out of that bed. If you need anything, use the bell.”

Greg settled back against the pillows. Now that he didn't have to concentrate on how much he hurt, his mind was free to worry about Mycroft.

What if the damage was permanent? Greg couldn't even begin to contemplate the destruction of such a beautiful mind ,which he knew Mycroft prized above all his other attributes. Any other damage was, to Greg, immaterial. He loved Mycroft and it wouldn't make any difference to him how his darling had been affected.

Worry churned in his guts as he lay there then the door to the ward was thrust open and a strident female voice yelled.

“Don't take that tone with me, John Watson! If I wish to see with my own eyes that Gregory is not grievously injured then I shall.”

Mrs Holmes marched onto the ward, scowling at John's presumption. Her expression changed when she caught sight of Greg and hurried over to his bed, closely followed by her husband.

“Gregory, my dear. How are you?” Violet asked.

“I'll be alright,” Greg reassured her. “Just a few cracks and sprains. Have you seen Mycroft?”

“Yes. I…” Her composure cracked and tears spilled down her face. Siger handed her a handkerchief which she sobbed into.

“Don't be so dramatic, Violet.” Siger murmured, squeezing her shoulder. “Gregory will be thinking our son is at Death's door.”

Siger Holmes gave Greg a reassuring smile. “He will be fine eventually, Gregory. Physically, he is almost healed. Mentally though, he is a little distraught. He's shaken off the effects of the Imperius Curse but he blames himself for getting captured in the first place and he feels burdened by the knowledge that he killed a man.”

“In self defence!” said Greg hotly.

“I quite agree. I also know from the Minister that a death sentence had already been passed on Dolohov but you know Mycroft and that soft heart of his. He refused to eat meat from the age of four when he found the connection between the animals in the field and the lamb on his plate.”

“He's just as soft with his students,” smiled Greg. “Whatever he's going through, I will be by his side every step of the way. If he wants me, that is.”

“Are you sure you didn't bang your head harder than you thought?” interrupted Violet. “You're all he can talk about. My Gregory this and my Gregory that. It took four staff to keep him in bed when he found out you were here. My son loves you, Gregory. You make him happy. Now's your chance to make him well.”

“I will. Whatever it takes. Can I ask you both a favour?”

“Anything. You saved both our sons, Gregory. Anything we can do for you would be our privilege.”

“Can you give a message to my parents? I was supposed to be in touch with them before now and they'll be worried.”

Violet pulled a quill and a piece of parchment from her commodious handbag and helped him sit up to write his note to Rose and Hugh.

“Please tell them not to worry,” he pleaded. “And that I'll be in touch with them as soon as I can.”

“We will. In fact, we'll head down there now.” said Siger as Violet tucked the note into her bag.

“Oh, yeah. The house is warded and they're on their guard. If they ask you for the password, it's Jungle Book.”

“Very well. We will be back tomorrow. Rest as much as you can, Gregory.” Then Violet surprised him by hugging him tight enough to make his newly-healed ribs creak.

Greg slept fitfully that night, images of the battle to save Mycroft, Dolohov gloating as he prepared to end him all added to him waking in a cold sweat. Awkwardly he poured himself some water from the jug at his bedside. He wondered if Mycroft was awake as well. He swore that he would see him that day whatever John Watson said. Supposing her had to crawl there. With that comforting thought, he settled himself back down and tried to sleep again.

*

The next morning Greg had barely finished his breakfast when Dave and Joan descended on him bearing gifts of Butterbeer and chocolate. His eyes prickled when he saw them. His dear friends. Willing to do anything for him and risk everything.

“Rumor has it, you and Mycroft are being nominated for the Order of Merlin,” said Dave as he sat with his feet up on Greg’s bed and helped himself to Greg’s sweets.”And so are we.”

“That’s nice,” scowled Greg. 

“It’ll be quite an honour for the Department,” added Joan. “Sorry we can’t stay longer, Greg. “

“Yeah, this chocolate is amazing,” mourned Dave and winced as Joan smacked him on the arm.

“We’re picking up Hazel,” Joan explained. “She’s okay, before you ask. Just needs a few days at home and she’ll be right as rain. Would you like to see her before we go?”

“Yeah, of course. If it hadn’t been for Hazel, I’d have been dead a hundred times over. I’d love to see her. And I want to thank you guys. If not for you, well, Mycroft would probably be dead and I don’t know what would have become of me.”

“We always look after our own, Greg. You know that.” said Dave, the usual levity gone from his face. “Come on, Joan. Let’s see if we can get Hazel out of here and into a dry martini or two.”

They hadn’t been gone long when John Watson appeared with a wheelchair.

“You’ve kept your side of the bargain,” he said. “Get in.”

With John’s help and a considerable amount of swearing, Greg got into the wheelchair and allowed himself to be pushed along a labyrinth of corridors to another ward. Only one of the beds was occupied and that was by Mycroft.

Mycroft visibly brightened when he saw who was in the wheelchair and sat up, swinging his legs out of the bed as John parked Greg as close as he could and muttered something about seeing them both later.

“You’re okay,” said Mycroft softly. “John swore to me that you were but I wouldn’t believe it till I saw you with my own two eyes. My darling, I was so worried.” 

“So was I, love. Especially when they said you had been more hurt than they thought. Look at you, though. Still as beautiful as ever.”

Mycroft got out of bed and pecked Greg on the lips. Greg slid his arm around his love and pulled him onto his lap.

“Why the wheelchair?” asked Mycroft, his head resting on Greg’s shoulder.

“Sprained knees. Plus I need a new leg after the old one got destroyed, so I’ll be wheeling myself about for a little while yet, at least until I can manage crutches again.”

He felt Mycroft sob against his neck and he made his lover look at him.

“Hey, none of that! We’re alive. That bastard is dead and we’ve got each other. Everything else right now is a bonus.”

“You could have died.” sobbed Mycroft. 

“If it had meant that you lived, it would have been worth it. Listen to me, darling. This is going to be hard for you but you won’t have to cope with it on your own. I’ll be there for you, and so will all the other people who love you. Do you understand?”

“Yes. And thank you, my heart.”

They sat there for a while, Greg stroking his fingers through Mycroft’s hair, soothing him and holding him close until they were disturbed by the rest of the Aurors.

“You randy bastard, Lestrade!” laughed Dave. “Can’t leave you alone for five minutes.”

Greg made a rude gesture while Mycroft stood up and sat back on his bed again.

“Hazel! How you doing, kiddo?” asked Greg.

“I’ll be fine, Greg.” she said with a smile which he returned with no small relief.

The five of them sat chatting and laughing and insulting each other, Mycroft joining in hesitantly at first, them with enthusiasm as they roasted his darling alive with sucrrilous stories and tall tales.

The arrival of Kingsley Shacklebolt, however, doused their good spirits quickly.

“Good afternoon, all of you, “ he began. “I’m delighted to say that you are all going to be awarded the Order of Merlin, First Class.”

“Yay!” said Dave sarcastically and Hazel hushed him.

“Furthermore, I have some good news for you, Gregory.”

“Me? What news?”

“I am here to offer you your old position back. We may have been hasty in casting you out, Alastor Moody managed to serve for many years with one eye and an artificial leg and yesterday’s actions have proved beyond doubt that you can still do the job. You could be an Auror again just as soon as I can complete the paperwork.”

“Wow!” said Joan, her eyes shining. “It’ll be great to have you back, Greg!”

“Yeah, another bloke I can talk about Quidditch to, “ agreed Dave.

Greg’s heart soared. This was a chance he would never get again and he looked the Minister straight in the eye as he replied.

“Thanks very much, Minister, but I’ve already got a job. One that I’m really good at. I’ve got students sitting their exams soon and they’ll need me there to hold their hand. I’m not an Auror any more. I’ve found what I want to do for the rest of my life.”

He looked at Mycroft who had started to cry again, out of relief this time. “And I’ve found the person I want to spend the rest of my life with. I can’t do that if I’m chasing all over the world after Dark wizards. So thanks but no thanks. As soon as we can, we’re going back to Hogwarts.”

Mycroft looked deep into Greg’s eyes as he processed what his lover had said.

“Really?” asked Mycroft.

Greg smiled leaving no one in doubt of his sincerity.

“Yes, darling. We’re going home.”

SIX YEARS LATER

On a glorious June afternoon, Minerva McGonagall opened the gate to Fellside Cottage on the outskirts of Hogsmeade and smothered a smile at the domestic scene that greeted her. 

Mycroft was placing bedding plants in the borders, aided and abetted by Frances Longbottom, her little hands and the front of her dress were covered in earth as she patted down the soil, looking to her Uncle Mycroft for guidance.

Greg was lounging on the garden bench keeping a benign eye on Frances’s little brother, George who was sat on a blanket playing with a set of wooden animals. Occasionally Greg would flick his wand and a lion would roar or a cow would moo making George giggle.

When George saw the elderly witch in the garden, he climbed into Greg's lap and watched with solemn curiosity as his sister ran to her and hugged her.

Mycroft straightened up from his flower beds, a welcoming smile on his face that was mirrored in Greg's.

“Have a seat,” said Greg patting the bench beside him. “It's lovely to see you.”

“Thank you, Gregory.” She sat beside him and smiled at George as he offered her a wooden hippo.

“I'll get some lemonade,” offered Mycroft, disappearing into the cottage, emerging minutes later with a tall jug and glasses, the ice inside clinking merrily.

Once everyone had been served, Mycroft pulled up a garden chair and sat beside his husband.

“It's not exactly a social call.” Minerva began. “I'm seeing all the Heads of House today. The acceptance letters are going out tomorrow and I need you, Gregory, to visit some of the Muggleborns on the list.”

“Yeah, of course. Should be fun. Why didn't you ask me last year?”

“You weren't Head of Hufflepuff last year. Being the Head of House means taking on some additional pastoral duties.”

Mycroft grinned and Greg stuck out his tongue at him.

“Just wait till Horace retires,” he warned him. “Then you'll have this to do as well.”

“Assuming our esteemed Headmistress thinks I'm suitable to be Head of Slytherin.” laughed Mycroft.

“Mycroft Lestrade-Holmes. Stop fishing,” she said, a stern look in her eye. She produced a roll of parchment from her robes and handed it to Greg. It looked to contain about half a dozen names but she indicated one name with her finger.

“I thought it appropriate that you should be the one to do  _ this _ particular visit.”

Greg’s easy smile widened as he read the name and looked at her in amazement.

“Him? Really?”

“Really. Perhaps that should be your first port of call.” She pulled out a heavy purse from another pocket in her robes. “I believe his family may need some financial assistance and Hogwarts has always been lucky enough to be able to provide that. Should you require more for any others, let me know.”

“I will.” Greg replied then turned to Mycroft.

“Look who's on the list, love.”he said, pointing.

“Oh, my.” Mycroft smiled fondly. “That will be quite an adventure for you, my heart.”

Greg beamed.

*

Greg knocked on the door of the first-floor flat. The area was shabby, something like the condition of the building, but Greg couldn't sense anything to give him any concern.

The door was answered by a pretty youngish black woman.

“What do you want?” she asked defensively.

“ Mrs Crossling? Good afternoon. My name is Gregory Lestrade-Holmes. I believe you have a son called Daniel.”

“Yeah. He hasn't done anything, mister. He's a good boy.”

“I'm sure he is. May I come in? I have some news for you both.”

She looked as though she was going to slam the door in his face when another figure appeared in the doorway.

“Mum? Who's this?”

Greg couldn't believe how much he'd grown in the past six years. He would have recognised him anywhere. And from the growing look of wonder in Daniel's eyes, Greg must have made some sort of impression too.

“The wizard! See, Mum. I told you he was real!”

Daniel's mother looked dumbfounded.

“He told me about the dancing angels. And the magic sign. Who are you?”

“Can we talk about that inside?” Greg asked.

He followed Daniel and his mum into their tiny living room and sat down on the sofa.

“I'm a teacher at a school for people like Daniel and myself and I've come to offer Daniel a place there.”

“To do what?” she asked.

“Study magic.” Greg looked at a thoroughly enthralled Daniel and said the four words that had changed his life all those years ago when he heard them from Professor Dumbledore.

“Daniel, you're a wizard.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has loved this, liked it and left comments. You people make writing worthwhile and I treasure every one of you.


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